This is an excerpt from the ebook Hell To Heaven, available for purchase in its entirety from www.a1adultebooks.com . Enjoy!
"This I'm going to have to see."
Their slave was, as usual, lying on the steel floor, constrained by the chain attached to her collar. She looked up at them when they came in with a flicker of fear in her dull brown eyes, but they ignored her half-articulated pleadings for mercy. Rob started to set up the object while Chris watched.
It was a large pyramid, about three feet high. There was a long, thick protrusion coming from the apex of the pyramid that looked like a series of balls. The ball at the very tip was about an inch in diameter. The balls got gradually bigger until the last one, at the top of the pyramid, was fully four inches around. Each ball was covered with tiny hard rubber spikes that would prove painful for the girl when she was lowered on it.
Once this was set up and bolted to the floor Rob hung pulleys from the ceiling by standing on the cart that held their usual torture instruments. Next he locked braided steel cables to the slave's ankles and wrists, cuffing all four of the slave's limbs together before lifted her into the air. Her head lolled backward, trying to see what he was doing as he rolled the pyramid directly under her body. He handed the cable's end to Chris to hold while he positioned her atop the first ball.
The slave jerked in terror as she felt the tip of the ball against her anus. She clenched involuntarily, whimpering pathetically as she begged them, "Please, please, don't! It can't take this in there, please Master, it begs you to stop!"
He ignored her cries, gesturing to Chris to lower her more.
The ball dimpled her anus inward alarmingly, but didn't penetrate it at first. Rob reached downward, adjusting the position of the pyramid, then grabbed her hips and pushed down. The slave moaned in pain as the first ball disappeared inside her anus.
They took their time, lowering her gently, little by little, onto the knobbed balls. By the third one down, she was crying with discomfort. By the sixth, she was screaming, her belly muscles fluttering in a vain attempt to dislodge the object in her rectum. The seventh ball split the skin around her sphincter. They were treated to an agonized wail as a drop of blood began to slowly make its way down the shaft of the probe. Rob grinned in sadistic glee as he looked at the blood. He and Chris lowered her down, further and further, until she was impaled, screaming, her anus wrapped around the base of the protrusion in the pyramid. The sides of the pyramid were bloody from her torn ass.
"I'll be damned. It did fit all the way in. I really didn't think it would." Chris said to Rob. "Good job! Now…she's not bleeding internally, is she?"
"She might be," Rob studied the frantically straining girl as he buckled a ball gag in her mouth, silencing her screams of pain. "But she'll mend. Now…"
He amused himself for a while, raising and lowering her, watching her face twist into incredible expressions of agonized torment, listening to her scream with the pain of having her ass brutalized by the incredibly large object. When he tired of that, he lifted her off the protrusion, one ball at a time, slowly, so she could really feel the balls leaving her colon and rectum…then when only one ball was left, he dropped her back down on the pyramid sharply, abruptly, very fast. Her face twisted in agony as the blunt instrument tore up into her anus, further traumatizing the already torn tissue along her rectal walls. The screaming that was audible behind the ball gag was almost inhuman.
She passed out, hanging limply in her bonds. Rob grinned as he pulled her back up off the impaling instrument.
"She's so overwhelmed by our kind attention," he mocked, lowering the unconscious girl to the floor. "Here. While she's out, let's get her over the frame."
Chris helped Rob set up the collapsible frame, with its cuffs for securing ankles and wrists, then waved a capsule of ammonia under her nose.
She came awake with a jerk, struggling against the straps for a moment until she realized she was no longer hanging over the horrible, dreadful pyramid. She sighed for a moment, her head hanging as she let out a breath of relief, which quickly turned into a gasp of horror as she felt Rob's hand around her torn, brutalized sphincter.
"Oh, relax, now, we're just going to do an in-depth study of your anatomy," Rob said with a chuckle as he slid on a pair of rubber gloves, the kind cleaning people wore. He handed another pair to Chris, who put them on and then used a bar of common soap to make the surface of the glove slippery. This done, he wormed one finger, then two, then three, up into her anus.
The soap was burning the slave's bowels. She was writhing and sobbing in discomfort. He ignored that, tucking his last two fingers in close to his palm and pushing ahead. She fought, trying to clench against him and he could make very little headway. Finally, he spoke to her.
"Bear down like you're going to shit," he said, "My hand's going up your filthy little ass, slave and there's nothing you can do to prevent it. But if you bear down maybe it won't hurt so much."
The anal ring clamped around the first joint of his fingers suddenly loosened and his hand slid forward. Elated, he continued to push, ignoring the muffled grunts and screams coming from the other end of the slave and was finally rewarded with the sight of his hand disappearing into the ass in front of him. For a few moments he slid his fist in and out, enjoying the involuntary cries of the girl, then he stopped with his hand just inside the second ring, the one leading from her rectum into her colon and slowly opened his hand.
She went into what he could only describe as convulsions, her eyes wide, head tossing wildly. Every inch of skin, from her shaved head on down, was filmed over with sweat; her body was tense with the pain. He enjoyed her reaction for a moment, then slowly twisted his hand around in her ass a half-turn. She went wild as the bone in his knuckles abraded her insides, the soap on the glove stinging the tears in her rectal walls. He continued to turn his fist as he sawed in and out, reaming the now-gaping asshole as thoroughly as he could, then he withdrew.
"Your turn," he told Chris.
Her anus had started to close as his fist came out, so when Chris started to shove his hand into her, he encountered the same resistance. Rob had to threaten her again before she relaxed enough for Chris to get his fist in her ass and then she suffered again as Chris reamed her out.
"Oh, crap, Rob…this is so tight….oh…she's in so much pain, I can feel her trying to expel my fist…damn, oh, jeez, her inner walls are strong…" He was laughing and she was crying hysterically in dumb animal agony as he fisted her brutally.
When she finally passed out again (this time from Chris pulling his still-clenched fist out of her ass) they both decided that the experiment had been a success. She was bleeding a bit, but it wasn't very heavy and most of it was coming from the torn ring of muscle around her hole. Tired of playing with their toy, they suspended her again from the ceiling using the pulley and hoisted her up while Rob repositioned the pyramid. Chris lowered her down onto the balls until she was completely impaled. They left her suspended there as they wheeled the rest of their equipment out and left.
She had always justified her masters' terrible cruelty before, but since her clit and gash flaps had been cut away, now leaving just smooth, shiny scar tissue, she had realized finally that her masters did not love her, did not care for her. Her masters only wanted her to hurt, wanted her to suffer and scream so they could take pleasure in her suffering. She had realized that nothing she could do would save her from being tortured, that perfection was neither possible nor desired. They did not want her to serve.
And there was nothing she could do about it. If pleading and begging her masters had not worked already, nothing would. Escape was impossible; this room was the only one she had ever been in. Tough her masters presumably lived beyond that door, she had no idea where any other exit could be. Her only hope now was that her masters would kill her; let her die so she would stop feeling the constant, horrific pain from her brutalized, scarred, emaciated body.
Her masters came into the room and she saw they were both reeling from the stink of her effluvia. Her first master went to get the hose and began to hose her down. The water was a shock. It was bitterly cold, so cold she screamed when she felt the icy fluid wash over her. Still, she was grateful that she was finally being washed off and did her best to turn her body so all the waste could be washed off her.
She cried in shame and pain as her master directed the stream of cold water up into her anal passage, held open by the speculum and the water went in and rushed right back out. They continued to aim the icy water into her bowels until she was almost unconscious from the cold, then turned off the water.
She was spread-eagled again on the cold floor and she struggled, sobbed, pleaded with her masters to not hurt her, but her masters ignored her cries and tied her tightly face-down on the floor, her thighs spread. She couldn't see what was going on behind her for a long moment and wondered what her masters were doing…and then got her answer when a series of huge objects was pushed past her anal ring and into her rectum. A stabbing pain erupted on the side of her asshole. She screamed, jerked, but was unable to stop her masters from doing whatever they were doing. They didn't stop until her entire anal ring was a burning mass of pain.
"Think that'll do?" her second master said finally.
"Yes, it'll be fine," her first master responded. "Those stitches are in there pretty good. And I stitched the string to those balls to the side of her anal ring; they won't get lost. There's going to be a lot of pain when the pepper mixture in those balls gets to work, though and she might scream. We'd better do something to keep her quiet."
Pepper! She could now identify the burning pain deep in her bowels. She knew it would only get worse. She squealed in agony and burst into fresh sobs.
"Please!" she begged. "Please, masters, please do not leave that thing in this slave's shit chute…" She was abruptly silenced by a brutal kick to the side of her head.
"Shut up," her second master said roughly. "You will take whatever we say you will take. What you want, feel, or wish doesn't matter to us at all. You are a thing, an it, an object. You have no feelings, no purpose other than to take whatever we want do to you. And just for that, you will be going into the box."
Tears welled up in her eyes and she wailed in misery. She hated the box. The last time they had put her in the box, she had been so sick, dizzy and disoriented when she came out that she had thrown up for a long time. She had promised her masters that she would do anything, submit to anything, as long as she was not put back in. But now, before her tear-filled eyes, the box was being opened.
The box was wooden shipping crate, just large enough for her to lie in if she curled herself up tightly. Once she was inside her masters would fill it with some rubbery foam that would prevent her from moving even the tiniest bit and close it up. Trapped inside, she would be unable to move for as long as they chose to keep her inside.
But she had to be packaged first. Her masters came forward with wax earplugs that prevented her from hearing; heavy black eye patches sealed her eyes in a cocoon of darkness and a long, thick penis gag that was forced into her mouth and down her throat before being buckled into place behind her head. The gag had a tube running through to allow her to breathe while her nostrils were blocked with heavy plugs of wax. She had experienced this before, so she knew what was going to happen, but she still couldn't quell her irrational panic as her nostrils were stuffed and closed.
Her masters insured that the breathing tube worked adequately by bringing a vicious bullwhip down across her bare back and buttocks several times. A whistling sound came from her gag as she screamed in pain, but the whistling sound was the only sound they could hear. They then pulled a black leather hood over her bald head, lacing her tightly up the back of her head so that no sound, light, or air would penetrate except by the tube that fit into the hole in the penis gag.
Satisfied, they picked her up and easily lowered her into the box. Her limbs had to curl uncomfortably around her body, almost immediately causing muscle cramps and spasms, but they didn't pay attention to the agonized whistling from the protruding tube. They tugged the end of the tube through a hole in the side of the crate, ensuring that air would still be available to the inhumanly trapped captive inside the box.
They lowered the lid onto her. Locking the lid by means of the clamps around the edge, they then ran a hose into a special port in the side of the box, filling it until the volume of foam inside the box was pressing brutally against the thin, battered body held within. Much to her relief, the foam suddenly stopped flooding The Box. Already her body was in agony from the pressure and her torment had just begun. She had no idea how long she would be kept in the Box this time, with the pepper irritating her bowels, her anus sewn closed and her throat painfully filled by the huge gag thrust into her.
Chris stood back, smiling.
"All right, packaged and ready for transport."
Rob walked around the box.
"With all of that foam pressing on her, she'll never feel the box moving when we load it in the back of the truck. And the pain in her ass will be too intense for her to concentrate on anything but the pepper causing it. She won't know a thing until we get her to the club to show her off. Come on. Let's go get dressed."
"Are you sure this is wise?" Chris asked Rob as he pulled on his black leather pants and vest. "I mean, we have done some pretty extreme things to her and her body's pretty scarred up and battered. And she's thin. Are you sure the owners of the club aren't going to object when they see what she looks like?"
"Hey, she's our slave, right? We can do what we want with her. Besides, if we tell everyone she's a pain slut and she likes it, they're not going to object. They won't know this wasn't voluntary unless she tells them. And since I don't intend on taking that gag out of her throat, we're pretty safe. Just follow the plan, Chris. We can't go wrong."
At seven o' clock that evening they loaded the wooden crate into the back of the van. The whistling from the tube was almost constant, a testimony to how much their captive was suffering from her now ten hours of confinement, but they were in high spirits as they drove downtown to the club Rob had visited the night before.
It was called the 'Whipping Post' and true to the name, it was a fetish club. The previous night, enraptured by the spectacle of a nubile young Asian slave being whipped by her master, he had sought and obtained permission to bring his own pain slave for a similar pain session. Having told them his slave would be arriving in a crate, the rear loading dock (usually used for deliveries of alcoholic drinks for the patrons) tonight was prepped for the delivery of one pain slave belonging to Master Rob and his brother, Master Chris.
The two men insisted on handling the crate themselves, off loading it with a lot of noise and fuss so no one would hear the whistling from the breathing tube and put it in a small room off the main stage until the time came to push the box onstage.
The masters and their slaves quieted at their tables as the announcer called Master Chris and Master Rob. Together the two men wrestled the box into the center of the stage. Chris unlocked the clamps holding the lid down, then unlocked the side clamps and swung the front of the box open, revealing the foam inside.
There was a murmur from the audience when they saw what looked like a solid block of hardened foam. Rob opened his pocketknife and started to cut through the packing foam until he had exposed the girl inside. Seizing the slave's arm, he dragged her out of the box until she flopped limply on the stage, her tortured limbs unable to support her body.
At the sight of her the murmuring quieted. Chris sneaked a peek out into the audience. Some of the watchers seemed titillated, but many of them looked just plain shocked at the slave's thin body, the bones protruding under her skin, the obvious scars as well as the fresh weals left from the bullwhip they had struck her with now twelve hours before.
The man who had whipped his Asian slave there last night sat at one of the front tables, shaking his head slightly as he looked the slave over critically. Chris saw the disapproving look on his face and felt a chill at the sight of the cold glare the man gave him. He suddenly knew this was a really bad idea.
But they couldn't just pack up and go home. It was too late. Rob, completely oblivious to the stranger's coldly disapproving glare, was already well on the way to getting things set up. He had used the ropes hanging from the ceiling to tie their slave's wrists and run another loop around her neck. Then he winched her up using the available pulley system. Thus, hanging by her wrists and neck a foot off the floor, she was accessible.
What Rob was planning on doing would make any frenzied kicking extremely undesirable, so he'd taken the precaution of bringing weights, regular barbell weights, to tie to the slave's ankles. He heard the agonized whistling from the tube as the weights tugged the slave downward, putting strain on the stick-thin wrists and neck and smiled to himself. She was going to be in a lot more pain by the time the night was over. He was going to show the assembled masters that he was better at causing pain than they were. The whipping the silver-haired man in the front row had given to his Asian slave here last night would seem tame in comparison.
He brought out his best black leather whip, a long fiberglass rod wrapped in thin strips of leather in which sharp pieces of metal were embedded and swished it a few times experimentally. It was too bad he'd had to deprive her of her senses for this trip, he mused; normally he loved hearing her cry and see her flinch when she heard the whip in the privacy of her steel prison. But they couldn't have anyone ask her questions about her willingness, or worse yet, give her a chance to escape him.
He walked around her once, looking at her. With her legs pulled downward by the weights, the stitches around her anus were hidden, though he could see the wasted muscles of her buttocks clenching because of the pepper in her anus. That would be a good place to start. He raised the whip and brought it across her ass.
The hanging body jerked as the first bright red welt was laid across her buttocks and a high-pitched whistle came from the tube hanging from the black leather hood. Good. She felt that one. He proceeded to lay more welts, across her shoulders, back, buttocks, thighs, calves, then he switched to her front and started with the slave's shoulders, belly, groin and thighs, saving the breasts for last.
By the time he stepped back and prepared for the first stroke to her tits, she was writhing in her ropes. Her wrists were raw and he could see blood where the tight ropes had cut into her skin. Her neck was showing the same signs. The whistling from the breathing tube from her screaming was almost constant and the barbells were moving from the involuntary jerking of her feet. Under the hood, her jaw was working, the leather rippling as she desperately tried to get her mouth free to scream her agony, to plead for the torture to stop. Ignoring all of that, he raised the whip and lashed it across the top of her breasts.
The whistling from the breathing tube escalated to the sound of a teakettle and a bright red bleeding line appeared across the tender flesh as the slave started struggling frantically in the extremity of her distress. And to everyone's horror, her right hand came free of the ropes holding it, leaving her hanging by her neck and her left hand. She grabbed the rope around her throat, scraping frantically at it with her free hand.
The weight on her ankles was too much and she was quickly strangling on the rope around her neck.
The silver-haired man at the front table jumped out of his chair and sprang onto the stage. Grabbing the slave's waist, he held her up, supporting her so the rope wouldn't strangle her as he called to Rob, "Cut her down! She'll die!"
Rob seemed to be in a daze. The man turned, cursing impatiently and called for help. Another man from the front row jumped onto the stage, getting out a pocketknife as he did so. In a trice the ropes were cut and the slave fell limply out of the first man's arms onto the stage. He went to his knees beside her, experienced fingers loosening the laces at the back of the hood and pulled it off.
Under the hood, the slave's face was blue and it was immediately obvious to anyone watching that she was choking on something. He quickly unfastened the penis gag, trying to pull it out. He realized what the problem was when the strap came away from her face without the huge plug of rubber. In her agony she had chewed through the base of the plug and separated it from the strap. When she further struggled it had begun its slide into her throat.
She was gagging on it. Even with the tube now removed and the hole blocked by the strap, she hadn't been able to get air at all. The man jammed his fingers into her mouth, grasping the base and yanked it out as fast as he could. She took a huge gasp of air and started to scream.
He yanked the plugs from her nose, freeing both her airways, and then reached down and pulled off her blindfold. Her eyes were streaming tears of agony, which blurred her vision and he could see from her dazed look she didn't know where she was or who he was.
"Please…" she gasped out, between her agonized cries, "Please, make it stop, Master, please, this slave hurts, it hurts, it cannot take anymore, please, Master, make the pain stop!"
He pulled the plugs out, enabling her to hear and said, "What hurts, little one? What hurts?"
For the first time the slave's eyes focused on him and he saw the pain and misery and terror in her eyes.
"Ass," she babbled almost incoherently. "Pepper…in my ass, please…"
Only then did he realize that she was groping frantically between her legs. He looked down and was stunned and shocked to see the stitches holding her anus closed. And what was obviously a string hanging from the sewn-shut opening.
"What has happened to you, little one?" he said quietly. "Please, lie still. I will do what I can."
He turned to Rob and Chris.
"What have you done? Don't you know what you've done is horribly dangerous and could have killed her?" he held out his hand. "Let me have those suture scissors, at once."
Chris spoke first. "We—we didn't bring any, we don't have any," he said. "We would have just slit the stitches with a knife when we got home."
"The anus is filled with bacteria and even the tiniest cut could get infected and cause her unbearable pain and require a course of antibiotics," the man thundered at the two brothers, completely enraged. "You're idiots who don't even know what you're doing!"
He took a deep breath.
"Since you obviously don't care about her, from the way you treat her, I'll buy her from you. One thousand dollars as she is, right now."
Rob looked like he was about to protest, but he saw the look on the other man's face. The guy who had cut the slave down still held the knife he'd used and looked quite ready to commit murder with it. He nodded quickly.
The silver-haired man picked up the still weakly-gasping slave in his arms as if she weighted no more than a child (which in fact she did).
"You can get my address from the club master. Send me her slave papers and contract by tomorrow or I will make things extremely unpleasant for you."
He turned to the slave.
"Little one, you are mine now. We will go home and I will care for you properly."
"No—no, this slave must stay with its masters, it belongs to them, it will be punished if it does not…" and the slave dropped to her knees, trying to crawl back to Rob and Chris. The man prevented her, taking her arm and pulling her to her feet.
"You are mine now, little one. You will not see them again."
He swept her up in his arms and strode away, toward the door, leaving the club patrons milling about in confusion.
She woke confused.
She lay in a soft bed for the first time since she could remember. There were soft pillows under her head and a warm fluffy comforter covering her. She lay for a moment, savoring the softness and comfort of the bed before reality intruded.
She was not allowed to sleep in a bed! She had never been allowed to sleep in a bed. She would get in trouble. She sat up and found another surprise. She was wearing clothes! A nightgown of cream-colored satin, silky stuff that felt good against her skin…but that was also forbidden. She pulled the nightgown off and folded the garment neatly on the end of the bed, then smoothed the bedcovers down and remade it. Just as she finished doing that, the door to the room opened. A man stood in the doorway.
She only had a vague recollection of what had happened to her the night before, but she knew that man was her master. Probably she would now get into trouble. She fell to her knees, her hands flying up to cover her head and whimpered.
"It is sorry, Master, it woke up and found itself in the bed, it knows it is not to sleep in a bed or wear clothes but it does not remember putting them on! Please, Master, don't hurt it too badly!"
Master crossed the room in a couple of swift steps. She waited to feel the inevitable slap, feel the slice of the whip against her still-aching body. Instead, a gentle hand took her bony wrist and drew her to her feet gently, until she stood, staring at the floor, still shaking, still waiting for the anticipated lash.
"Little one, I will not hurt you," said the man gently. "I myself placed you in the bed a day ago and I have tended to the wounds and clothed you. You need not fear me. I shall not punish you unless you truly deserve it." He cupped her chin in his hand. "Look at me, Little One."
"It—this slave is not permitted to look upon its Master," She said. "In its Master's presence it must always look at the floor and it is not permitted to stand. It must always crawl."
Master looked sorrowful.
"I don't know who has mistreated you, Little One, but I am not like that. Please, sit down on the bed. I need to explain some things to you."
She stared at the bed. Was her new master actually asking her to sit? Her other masters had once ordered her to sit on a stool and when she had, she had promptly been knocked to the floor and punished because, her masters said, she knew better than to sit on a piece of furniture. Furniture was forbidden to her.
"It is not permitted to sit on furniture, Master," she whispered finally. Maybe this was a test.
Her new master sighed.
"I am your master, am I not, Little One?" he said firmly.
Slowly, she nodded, then said quickly, "Yes, Master," fearful that she might receive a beating if she did not respond verbally.
"And you must obey your master's orders. I order you to sit on the bed, Little One."
Slowly, gingerly, she sat. Her new master sat down as well, in a chair beside the bed.
"Now, Little one. Let me explain something. The rules in my house are different than what you may have encountered before. My first rule for you is this; you will cease referring to yourself as an 'it'. Your slave contract was delivered to me yesterday by those sadists who owned you before, and from it I found your name is Mira. You will refer to yourself as I, me, my, mine and your name is Mira. Not 'it'."
"Mira," the slave mouthed the name. It sounded familiar…but it had been so long since she had last heard her name, she had forgotten it.
"It thanks you--I thank you," she said timidly, using the 'I' pronoun for the first time in a while and feeling as though lightning might strike her for saying it. But no lightning appeared and her master went on.
"You can call me Master Simon," he said quietly. "My house is your house. I have no duties for you at the moment; I want you to take it easy. You were pretty badly hurt and it'll take a while for you to heal fully. This will be your room from now on. I've asked my other sub, Andie, to hunt out some clothes for you. You are somewhat thinner than she, but in time and with regular meals of good food, you should fill out nicely."
"It…it has a room now, Master? This room?"
"What was my first order, Mira?" said Master Simon.
The slave lowered her head.
"It…I am to call myself 'I', Master."
Master Simon nodded.
"If you do not remember, Mira, I shall have to make you remember by punishing you. I don't want to have to punish you. So try to remember, all right?" The slave nodded. "Now what were you asking?"
The slave rephrased her question carefully.
"Slave Mira has a room, Master? This room?"
Master Simon sighed.
"Well, third person is a start. Yes, Mira, you have a room. This is your room. It is a little plain now, but when you are feeling better you and Andie may go shopping and pick out some decoration more to your liking."
"Shopping, Master? Decoration, Master?"
Master Simon looked at her.
"Mira, how long has it been since you were outside?"
The slave looked down at her hands, clasped and folded tightly in her lap.
"Slave Mira does not know, Master Simon. There were no windows in the steel room and it was never allowed out."
"A steel room?" Master Simon looked concerned. "What do you mean by 'steel room'?"
"It was all of steel, Master," Mira explained. "The walls and ceiling and floor were made of sheets of stainless steel. There was a steel rivet welded to the floor of the room that its…that my…chain was locked to. It…I…spent a lot of time in there. I don't know how long."
"What was the last date you remember knowing, Mira?" Master Simon's brow was creased as he thought.
"My first master's funeral, Master Simon," Mira said promptly. "My first master's son Sam had a wake at the house and I was put in my outdoor kennel while the guests were there. It was spring of 1999, Master Simon."
Master Simon looked at her with a mixture of horror and pity in his eyes.
"It is now fall of 2004, Mira," he said gently. "You are sure of the date?"
Mira felt tears well up in her eyes and tried to fight them back. Five years were missing out of its—her—life! She dropped her eyes to her hands and said quietly, "Yes, Master Simon."
"The men who owned you before; the two men. Was one of them the 'Sam' you mentioned?"
Mira shook her head. "Slave Mira never knew it…her…masters' names, Master Simon. They never told me to call them anything but Master. Sam was my first master's son. After the funeral it was discovered that my first master had asked his son to care for me. Master Sam did not want me. He took me to a slave auction and sold me to my two masters."
"And they locked you away for five years." Master Simon sighed. "Mira, I have looked at your body. You realize you have been horribly mutilated?"
Mira looked down at the scar tissue between her legs.
"Yes, Master Simon. It was done recently."
"I have a friend, a doctor. When you are feeling better, I will have him come and look at you. Perhaps there is something he can do to restore some feeling so that you may feel pleasure again."
Mira's eyes widened.
"This slave is not to feel pleasure, Master Simon, except in pleasing her master!"
"Who told you that?" Simon asked.
"My first master, Sir. After this slave signed the contract he said this slave was to become his pet, his bitch. He called this slave 'pet' and fed me from bowls and allowed me to sleep in a dog crate inside the house when it was bad outside. The rest of the time I slept outside in my kennel."
The door opened at just that moment and Mira dropped her eyes immediately, instinctively. Master Simon patted her knee with a hand and said, "You may look up, Mira. This is my other sub Andie. She lives here also."
Mira looked up. There was a slender Asian girl standing in front of her, dressed in a white dress with pale blue flowers. She held a pile of clothing in front of her.
"I found some things that might fit, Master Simon," Andie said easily, smiling at Simon and at Mira.
Simon smiled back at her.
"Mira, this is Andie. Her name was Andrea, but her slave name, the name I gave her, is Andromeda, which means 'princess'. Andie for short. Andie, this is Mira. She will be staying here, so please help her feel welcome. Is coffee ready downstairs, Andie?"
"Yes, Master Simon. I also prepared your favorite breakfast and I made enough for all of us."
Simon smiled at both girls.
"Please help Mira dress, then come downstairs. We'll eat together." He stood, leaned over Mira and kissed her forehead. "Welcome to my household, Mira. I hope you will be happy here."
The preceeding were excerpts from this author's first ebook, 'Hell To Heaven', available for purchase at www.a1adultebooks.com , and published through Spice And Sugar Productions. The ebook is an expanded version of a shorter work that was posted here at the BDSM Library in 2004, which some may remember. If you liked the shorter version, or if you liked this excerpt, this author would be very pleased if you purchased the full-length version. Any comments, questions, or reviews can be posted here at the Library or sent to email@example.com . Thank you!
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