I was especially careful, however, not to squeal or cry with Benjamin wielding the flogger, since I couldn’t be sure that Jud’s permission to vent my emotions all I liked would apply with my master in charge. The feat was exhausting, but I felt proud of myself when it was over and with some poise I easily moved from the stool and returned to the floor.
My reward—I finally got to remove the ripped stockings and the hot leather boots.
All my days at boot camp start in a similar way, with a sound beating. I’m not sure of Benjamin’s intentions for this ritual, but it has the effect, especially afterwards, of turning on my sexual juices and sending me quickly into an altered state where nothing particularly matters to me but the erotic dance I feel within. My skin becomes hot and sensitive to any touch… even brushing by a table or a pant leg will produce a small spasm of physical arousal rushing through my nerves. I’m all jittery, hoping for the opportunity to orgasm, although that doesn’t happen often.
The first few days were nothing but such scenes punctuating rather empty days. There was time to think and for my thoughts to breed. But in the last few days the routine has changed—in truth, there is no routine at all. I don’t sleep according to any clock, or by the sun and moon, but when Benjamin or Jud put me in the cage, cover it with the tarp and close the door—like a pet canary, I’m put away to sleep.
Now between the scenes of pain, abuse and sex, I have work to do. The two men must have read my mind about the need for this cabin to be cleaned, because I’ve become a housekeeper as well as a slave slut. I’ve scrubbed the floors and the walls several times over. I’ve scraped the mold and crud from the nasty kitchen sink, cleaned out the drains, washed down the porch and sanded the splintered handrails. Twice daily I scrub the men’s urinal and toilet, which are located in a small room adjacent to the porch. I scrub the bucket I use as well. I never quite finish any task, before I’m led to another, followed by yet another task in an endless round that ends only when I’m returned to my cage and it’s time to sleep.
I’m often harassed while I’m working. Jud will use me as an ashtray, putting out cigarettes pretty much anywhere he likes on my body. He does avoid my face, my neck and underarms, but he’s smashed his glowering butts on my breasts, my ass and my hips numerous times—enough so I can now see silvery moons where some of the burns were especially deep. He has even had me spread my legs and tortured my labia and inner thighs with this biting vicious hell of fire. He knows, just like I know, that the pain is short-lived so he has no qualms about repeating the tiny torture whenever he gets the urge.
Benjamin doesn’t smoke, but he’s mean as hell with the cane. If he sees me take even the tiniest breather, I feel a cutting thwack of the bamboo laid most often across the backs of my thighs where he knows I hate it most. When it’s not the cane, he snaps a small, thin, whippy baton anywhere it pleases him. The strikes come out of the blue, just to aggravate me, to tease, to taunt and to make me mad. I know he wants to make me mad; the snicker on his face tells the sordid tale. I’m learning to the take these impulsive abuses from my masters with the humility they are looking for in my behavior, but I can’t help a moment or two of frustration, an afternoon of tears, or an occasional nasty glower.
With the last nasty glower, Benjamin stood over me while I cowered in his shadow. His boot nudged my bottom. “This bother you?” he asked, expecting no reply and getting none. For five minutes, he continued to poke and kick me from the far side of the cabin to the door, then out the door and onto the porch.
“I think you need a timeout, bitch. An attitude adjustment.” He stared down imposingly. From the ground, looking up, he cuts a pretty nasty picture. “Put your hands behind your back, your lips to the doorstep and your ass high in the air,” he ordered.
Difficult as it was, I executed the pose exactly as he instructed, with my lips kissing the doorstop, my hands behind me at my waist, and my ass raised as high as I could hold it, waiting for his next abuse. To add to the insult, Jud moved in and put my wrists in cuffs, then attached them to a rope, which he threaded through a hook above me in the porch ceiling. Within seconds, my entire body was trembling from the terrible strain of being forced into a position that I could not in any way comfortably sustain. My arms ached with heat, my thighs burned and I could hardly hold my lips to the wood. As the hateful minutes ticked by, my tears began to flow until I was sure to break into a sob.
Benjamin finally came to my rescue, saying, “Release her arms, will you Jud?”
When that was done, he called to me, “Come here.”
I moved unsteadily back into the cabin, wishing I could just collapse in a corner and rest. But once I made up the six feet between us, he pulled my head and shoulders into his lap and ran his fingers lovingly through my hair. Just that touch, that simple touch, and my anxiety fell away, my heart unclenched, and for a moment, any misgivings about my captivity eased.
“If I didn’t think you wanted this so much, I wouldn’t be so tough you,” Benjamin said. The words were hard and cold, but his hands were warm and the affection real. Until that day, was it two days ago? I’m not sure. Until that day, I don’t recall feeling Benjamin’s love. I’ve lived in a wasteland of bewilderment and worry, concerned that all I was obediently doing here would be for nothing. With his small gesture of affection, I could see that on the other end of this trial I might actually gain everything I hoped for.
Minutes later, I was back to the miserable task that apparently triggered the time-out. I could say I was refreshed and ready for another hour or two of slave labor, but I was exhausted. Perhaps my masters noticed, because I worked for just a short time, was then beaten at the forest pole in the heat of the day and then led back to the cabin and put in my cage where I fell asleep with little effort. I think a calmer spirit helped me rest, but certainly my worn out body helped even more.
***
I find myself feeling much the same way about my two masters. They are certainly very different men, but the humble servant with a mind focused solely on obedience and flawless submission knows to treat each order given with the same respect regardless of who’s giving it. This was not something I needed to learn by doing, but seemed to figure out intuitively. I might be more partial to Benjamin, but then, I’m not sure of that. There are times when a natural kindness in Jud’s nature appears, when the hard-nosed Benjamin would make me suffer longer at a task I hate—like crawling through the hot attic and sweeping out five years’ worth of dirt. I can normally count on Jud to give me more breaks, and even a kind word of encouragement, not mockery but a genuine compliment. With Benjamin that’s very rare.
Since Benjamin doesn’t use me sexually, except for an occasional blowjob, I’m grateful for Jud’s willingness to take the edge off my sexual rawness. He’s good at using my ass hard and making me suffer while he does it. He’s also good in the aftermath, when his meanness shows itself as nothing but an act, and he’s kind enough to stroke my sore body with some tenderness. It is only short-lived. I wish I could curl up on the bed and hold him in gratitude, but then, knowing he’s following Benjamin’s orders as much as I do, he jumps up and puts me back in my cage for sleep.
On the other hand, my body quivers longingly for the handsome stud I’ve never stopped loving and I await his return to the cabin with a little anxiousness that I don’t have for the older, less polished Jud. My heart will flutter when I know he’s near and I tune my obedience and my commitment to perfection a little higher when I know he’s watching. I shudder when I feel his gaze.
My sex burns brighter with Benjamin, the sexuality flames like rocket fire. I couldn’t imagine suffering as his boot camp slave without the torrid expectation that comes knowing I’ll be serving him, performing for him sexually and slaving to prove myself to him in every thing I do.
I could think poetically, that Jud gives me comfort while Benjamin gives me something to hope for. In some very small way that’s true, but I receive so little comfort from either man and
little hope I’ll ever succeed for these fourteen days, that I don’t dare wax poetic.
This is as hard a thing as I’ve ever done. But I will do it to get to the other side—whatever that is. My imagination is filled with thoughts about how that will look, but I truly don’t have much to go on.
I thought that my behavior couldn’t be more perfect, but then yesterday I mistakenly blurted out, “Ouch! Dammit” rather loudly when a fat splinter got lodged in my finger. I’m not sure how many days it’s been that I’ve sanded the kitchen table, but all my fingers are sore and chaffed and I’m constantly sneezing out the wood dust.
My verboten “Ouch!” brought Jud around in a second. He scooped me up by my hair and held me dangling in his fist. His free hand slapped my face, and I gave out another cry, though this one was more like a pained grunt.
“Ack! You thought were so perfect, Miss High and Mighty slut!” he spat out, looking almost pleased with my mistake. “You think it would set well if your master knew you broke the rules?”
I shook my head as my eyes welled with tears. I wanted to beg his forgiveness, after all, my hand was still throbbing from the splinter. I’m sure he saw how afraid I was.
He finally lowered my knees back to the floor. “So are you hurt?” he asked.
I showed him my hand.
“Whoa, that’s a nasty one.” He let go my hair and went for the First Aid kit. After removing the bloody splinter from my hand, he covered the wound with salve and bandaged it tight. “You’re not going to need this long, but it will keep it clean.”
A simple thank you would have felt so good… but slaves don’t live in the world of such pleasant protocol.
I’m learning the thoughtless, mindless response, the sweetness of a vacant mind. I remember years and years of a filled up brain, of worry that never stopped, of endless brooding about financial crises and emotional crises and physical and mental and business crises. My life was consumed in that whirlwind of frenetic being. But I can’t even remember what that was like now that my sole focus has come down to the bare elements of life and the sole task of pleasing two men who it is impossible to please. I’m hardly cognizant of anything. I don’t have time to think.
Chapter Twelve
I’ve polished Benjamin’s boots until I can see my face in the shine, but it’s not good enough.
“Do it again,” he says disgustedly.
I’ve been up for hours, too many hours. My body wilts every second I don’t consciously prop it up. I try to keep my mind sharp and focused, but I can’t think anymore and I can hardly move my hand.
“I think she’s pent-up, Ben. You haven’t used her in days…” I can’t remember him using me at all for sex since Jud brought me here… “the little bitch is raw for it.”
“Well, she can get herself off,” my master says. He stares at me, while I keep trying for the shine he wants. I know I’m failing. I know every second he stares at me, he’s thinking terrible things about me. He finally turns to Jud. “Hand me the leather case.”
I watch as Jud moves away and then returns with something I haven’t seen before, a square leather box about eighteen inches high and a foot and a half square. When he lifts the lid, I still can’t fathom what the thing is supposed to be. But when he opens the main compartment and pulls out a large silicone dildo that attaches to a fitting in the top of the device, the picture begins to develop. I see myself lowering my privates over the dildo—ass or cunt, I suppose either would be possible. But then the picture starts to alter further when Benjamin swivels the dildo about and adjusts it from perpendicular to the floor to a forty-five degree angle.
“I thought you might need a new lover,” he says, “since you’re so fond of getting yourself off. Come here.”
With a good degree of concern, I drop the polishing rag and make my way to his feet where the lurid dildo appears before my eyes. The detail is amazing; it looks just like a real erection, complete with veins and a bulbous head.
“Suck it,” my master orders.
I suddenly can’t move. I can’t budge.
“Suck it, Dana, just like you would my prick.”
I still don’t move. I want to beg him not to make me do this, but I can’t use words and there’s not much sympathy in him for my pitiful expression. At last, he reaches over and gives my face a slap just to get my attention. I can tell he’s getting pissed, but I still can’t move.
“Come on, love it up real good,” he urges me.
But not until his hand comes around behind my head and he shoves my face toward the fake prick do my lips open and I start to follow the order. I have done worse things, far worse things, I remind myself. But still my stomach recoils.
“Get into it, bitch,” he snaps at me.
I can feel tears threatening in my eyes. Oh, please, don’t make me do this! I’m so tempted to object that I bite my lip to keep quiet.
With what little energy I have left, I begin to do as he asks. My lips slip over the inert silicone organ and my tongue winds its way around the thing. My mouth drops down and I seem to swallow it whole, before I rise up again, slurping, sucking, pretending. Yes, that’s all I have to do, pretend, I tell myself. Pretend this is not a rubbery tasting cock. Pretend it’s not a lifeless form. Pretend it’s Jud’s dick or Benjamin’s or any human’s living organ that will respond to the deep throat oral sex and rapacious sucking.
I keep up the motions. They are not particularly creative, but I suppose it looks raunchy, which must be their point—humiliating me beyond what they’ve already managed to do.
“Lift your ass, Dana, and fuck it. Fuck your ass with your fingers!”
I’m so busy with the task of sucking cock that I hardly hear the order at first and when it dawns on me what I’ve been told to do, I barely believe that what he asks is possible.
THWACK!
My body careens forward from the force of a sudden blow to my ass. A hot searing burn follows and I choke on the dildo, which is rammed deep in my throat.
“Fuck it!” Jud’s harsh guttural voice sounds off.
I immediately lift my ass, while still giving head to the tasteless prick, and with another swift cut of the cane from Benjamin to keep me motivated, I stuff my fingers in my ass. It’s a tight uncomfortable fit, which is then made conveniently easier when Jud briefly removes them and slathers my anus with what I think is probably lard or something like it. I’m back to the task with a terse, “Until you cum,” from Jud spurring me on.
With all the demeaning, undignified, shameful acts I’ve been made to perform, I’ve never been quite so demeaned as I am now. I shudder violently with humiliation, tears form in my eyes, I start to sob unable to get my tired body to do anything right. I finally stop altogether. I’m not even aware of Benjamin rising to his feet until I feel my entire body jerked up.
I scream out, “I can’t! I can’t, I’m sorry!”
Benjamin slaps my face. I can expect no less. He stares me in the eye. “Yes you can, Dana. We both know you can and we know exactly what you’ll do, don’t we?” I don’t think our faces are even an inch apart. “You’ll do it, you’ll love it, you’ll even get off! And when you’re done, you’ll admit the truth in words, the whole messy, outrageous truth about yourself. Once that’s done, you’ll find a way to apologize to me and to Jud. You’d better put on a show of gratitude to top any you may have tried before.”
He drops me back down to my hands and knees with my face in front of the prick, where I can suck as I did before and work my ass with my fingers. A different place in me must kick in… some new territory, another side of myself. I’m not sure what it is that motivates my movements, but I do feel a sudden erotic fire bursting inside my gut, a delicious, raw, wanting. I need it now—if only I could have the fire in my wasted cunt as well. The poor thing hasn’t been used in days—Jud has such a fetish for my ass, and I remember that I’ve blown Benjamin off but nothing more since my fourteen days began. Neither man has used my cunt.
Hungry and aching now for the cumming finish I must have, I work my ass like a nasty whore and suck the prick like a pro. I feel the fire rise, pushing me on, taking over when my mind might stop it. The feelings in my bottom swell. I sense everything, feel everything. I’m aware of every small pain, every discomfort, the eyes that stares in ruthless judgment, and the beads of sweat running down my chest and thighs. The taste of the silicone, the smell of sex, the touch that sends my body shivering, and the sounds of my slurping, grunting disgusting mouth combine in a bizarre cocktail that makes me drunk on my own debauchery.
Yes, yes! I’m pounding myself so hard it hurts like hell, though it feels like heaven is just around the corner.
“You know a really nasty sadist would stop you now,” I hear Benjamin’s cruel threat.
I feel my entire body tense up in protest at his message.
“So maybe you’d better cum fast,” he warns.
He doesn’t have to say it. I’m there and loving it, every firing nerve, every squeezing spasm, every dark wonder rising up because of the orgasm taking hold.
I don’t know if I cry or say anything recognizable. I’d hope I’d be forgiven if I did, but I doubt that would happen. I focus on feeling… I let go of their eyes and their mean energy. I focus solely on me. One hard clench after another rocks my belly until I finally collapse in a heap.
The sudden silence that descends upon the room weighs me down because I sense what’s coming next.
Then Benjamin finally speaks, “Now, you get one chance now to tell me in your own words why I shouldn’t consider your behavior punishable. You can start with telling me what you think of yourself now.”
I peel myself from the floor as if there are lead weights attached to my body, then wriggle a foot or so to Benjamin’s feet; the leather box and dildo are gone.
A Master For A Desperate Slave Page 13