Undercover Slave Girl

by Argus

  And how odd it was doing so naked... in a strange house full of strangers...

  Her legs wanted to bend, to give way, and she found herself slumping in place, putting more weight on the overhead chains bound to her wrists. They were deep into the night by now, and she wondered if they had simply forgotten her, or perhaps left her there till the next day. She tried to remember what time they had taken her. It had been about nine when she'd started, and they'd been her first lap dance.

  It was probably well into morning, she thought, with some dismay. Past three, she thought. That meant, in all likelihood, everyone was asleep! The bastards!

  No. Not everyone. For a middle aged man appeared and put more logs on the fire. He looked at her frankly and appreciatively as she blushed in the dim light, then walked over to her. She shook her head anxiously as he smiled at her, but she felt that strange dark rising heat as he reached out and fondled her breasts. Laughing softly, he slapped her bottom, said something in Gaelic, then left her alone again.

  For a few minutes her mind dwelt on the indignation, outrage, and sense of being victimized, along with her own strange dark hunger. And after that she felt very much alone, and very much more aware of her helplessness. Why, anyone could do anything to her they wanted! She was aching and uncomfortable and could do nothing whatsoever, not even complain about it! Hannah began to understand how totally adrift she was on the whim of this dangerous man she didn't even know.

  She was half dozing some time later, her head low, swaying only slightly due to the hold of the thick leather restraints around her, when there was a machine-like noise from close by. She jerked her head up as she felt an instant shift in the pressure on her wrists. For a moment she thought the restraints were growing tighter, and then to her shock she felt herself lifted, raised right off her feet!

  She could not go high, of course, for almost the instant her feet left the rug the chains attached to her ankle restraints went taut. Still, she felt the pull increase, and felt a pressure on her body as the four restraints pulled strongly in opposite directions.

  She gasped and her eyes rolled as she jerked her head from side to side, searching out what had happened who had done it. But there was no one there. She moaned helplessly, staring up at her wrists and arms, at the chains which led through rings set in the ceiling to a small black box where, evidently, they were linked to some sort of pulley.

  She immediately felt the increased pressure to her spine, her arms and her legs. Now she couldn't bend her limbs even a fraction of an inch. All four were pulled taut as she hung, in effect, spreadeagled in mid-air. Her wrists ached, and her breathing became harsher as her heart raced.

  Surely this at least meant he was going to come for her and let her down, she thought with some desperation. For he couldn't leave her like this for long!

  She groaned, trying to move, to shift her limbs at all, but failed. She stared at herself in the mirror, feeling a breathless sense of arousal creeping up on her. This was even more outrageous! It was like... like she was being tortured! So why did that sense of outrage feed a dark sense of arousal?

  She felt it spreading through her body even as she hung there, straining, groaning. Some dark side of her mind was excited by the abuse of her lithe body. And that confused her terribly.

  Looking down, she saw that the tips of her stiletto heeled shoes were a scant inch from the floor. Yet that distance might as well have been a mile. She could do nothing to relieve the pressure on her arms and shoulders and wrists. She also discovered that it was growing more difficult to breath, though she wasn't certain why. Beads of sweat began to stand out on her forehead, and these grew and spread up down her body.

  Hanging freely was not an option, she realized. She had to exert some small pressure on her arms each time she inhaled, else she could not expand her lungs. This took only a little effort, but it was a never-ending effort that soon had her arms aching. Hannah felt as though she'd run a marathon, and sweat trickled slowly down her now glistening body as she moaned weakly.

  Her breathing gradually slowed, and she felt herself growing light-headed as well as exhausted. She lost all sense of time, and her concern about her aching body faded away in the light of the desperate and focused effort at marshaling her resources so as to continue to slowly expand her chest. Her vision began to swim as her eyes became glassy, and she felt more and more disoriented.

  * * *

  O'Neil watched her on the monitor, shaking his head. God, the image was so erotic as her body strained outward. Everything about her roused him to passion. He had abandoned his own usual care and restraint to take her before the tests were back. He hadn't been able to suppress his own hunger and had slammed himself up into her beautiful ass like a desperate, starving man throwing himself on a feast.

  He was angry at that, upbraiding himself. He had no reason to be desperate. Sex was available to him at his whim. But he had wanted her, and wanted her immediately.

  And it was worth it.

  He watched her hanging there, limbs outstretched. He wanted her again, wanted her badly. But he would restrain himself for now. He'd seen her last medical report from the British Army, and she was entirely healthy so far as they were concerned. But he was a careful man by nature.

  Usually.

  * * *

  What had happened?

  Hannah blinked her eyes rapidly as a flood of relief swept over her. She moaned and gasped as she felt her changed circumstances. The pressure on her wrists was gone, and she could inhale as deeply as she wished. Her body was no longer pulled taut, and she was being moved. She felt something soft beneath her – the rug? There were hands on her, but she had no idea whose. She found she could not see, and for a moment wondered if the fire had gone out. Then she realized there was something over her eyes, some sort of blindfold.

  She was gulping in air, and could still feel how slick her body was, the hair matted against her skull. She felt her arms drawn together behind her, then was rolled onto her back. She felt pressure on her ankles, the restraints pulling them down towards her hips. Then there was a similar pressure on her wrist restraints, pulling them down her spine, down towards her buttocks.

  She groaned as her body bent under the dual pressure. Her back arched and her hips were forced upward. Her wrist restraints, she realized dazedly, were attached to some sort of rope which went upward, the soft rope – knotted rope, she realized – went right up between her legs, jammed against her sex, in fact, and disappeared somewhere above her.

  In fact, such was the pressure that the rope had sunk between the lips of her sex, angled up almost directly above her. As she slowly writhed and moaned and twisted against its pressure the knotted rope sawed slowly back and forth against her sensitive flesh, one knot in particular placed, either cruelly or by luck, directly over her clitoris.

  She cried out weakly, but heard no response. She could do nothing but lay there in place, arched, hips raised in an unnatural position, body trembling under the pressure.

  She was terribly thirsty, she realized, somewhat forlornly. She moaned into the gag and twisted a little, trying to see if there was any way to ease the stress her body was under. There wasn't, yet she continued to shift and twist, her body incapable of remaining still where it was possible to ease the ache and discomfort, however momentarily, by shifting, by twisting, by pulling.

  Then she felt a pinching sensation at the base of her right nipple. She stared blindly up, moaning into the gag as she felt something tightening around the nipple, gasping and then crying out weakly as it closed and the pressure grew much tighter. Her nipple ached, it burned! Yet now the fingers were pinching at the base of her left nipple!

  She gasped again as that nipple began to burn, as well. It was as if some sort of cord had been pulled tight around both nipples! And now she felt the cord lifted up and out, then tied in place. Her nipples throbbed and ached, and she whimpered in a sense of hopeless self-pity. This was all so unfair! Why
her!?

  She had no idea if anyone was still present. She assumed she was still in the same room, though she no longer heard the soft crackle of the fire. It might have gone out. She didn't know how long she had been there now, after all.

  Then there was a soft whisper next to her ear, one she hardly heard at first.

  “You will learn to be a proper slave,” it said.

  She moaned into the gag. She'd do anything he wanted to right now if he'd just untie her!

  But there was nothing further but her own body's ache and stress.

  Her discomfort caused her body to continue to wriggle and twist, however hopeless it was. Only now, the movements tugged her nipples against whatever was holding them, as well as grinding her aching clitoris against the knotted rope. She tried to keep still, but never managed to do so for more than a minute or two. The imperative to try and find a more comfortable position kept her body in soft, slow, desperate movement.

  Her nipples throbbed, but... not altogether unpleasantly, for some reason. Hannah fixed an image in her mind of her position, since she could not see, imagining crowds of people staring ather, lusting after her, licking their lips excitedly as they saw her straining against the bonds.

  Her pussy ached as the rope slid up and down against it, but she felt herself beginning to grow moist, the rope starting to grow slick. Her breathing became more ragged as she twisted slowly in place, and the first throb of heat came as the knot ground across her clitoris again.

  She wanted to fight that heat, and yet didn't. It had been hours of discomfort, and her mind fixed on any sign of relief – and this, after all, was a great relief. For somehow, the rising arousal pushed the discomfort aside, or even lent it a strange dark erotic thrill. As her arousal deepened she found her body influencing her mind, influencing her behavior.

  She arched and relaxed, arched and relaxed, softly, slowly, groaning to herself as she felt the rug against her shoulders and arms. The slick, knotted rope ground across her clitoris, and then back. It should not have been pleasurable but was. Her heart beat faster, her breaths quickening. Her movements also tightened and relaxed the pull of the cords on her nipples, making them burn and then ease repeatedly.

  Her movements were only half deliberate, but her arousal was undeniable, and it was a welcome distraction to the hours of nothing but discomfort. Dark fantasies swirled through her mind, fantasies she'd had before on occasion, fantasies she had often shied from but now embraced, feeling her body's heat rising into a low grade fever that let her escape the world and immerse herself in dark pleasure.

  Occasionally, though, a sound would cause her to stop, frozen in place, breathlessly trying to determine if she'd heard the door open, if anyone could be there watching. Only after continued silence gave her some assurance she was still alone did she resume her slow, grinding movements. The pressure against her clitoris was harsh, though the rope was soft and slick with her own juices. It was not what she would have thought would have ever given pleasure.

  And indeed, it was a low grade pleasure, at first, but the continued rubbing was making her clitoris ache and causing it to be hyper-sensitive to the touch. The sensations flowing through her were more powerful, and more intense, and she was gasping and moaning now, unable to halt her movements, unable to care if anyone might be near.

  She lost herself in the heat, twisting and writhing, crying out softly as the dark thrilling rushes of heat flooded her body. Her head rolled and her hips jerked up. And then with a helpless, shuddering cry of pleasure, the orgasm exploded within her, and she felt herself flying through the howling storm of sensations as they slowly reached their peak.

  She fell limp, chest heaving, gasping for breath, dazed and moaning

  Again she lost track of time. She felt drained, worn down, exhausted. Yet the discomfort was too much to sleep. Her back ached more now, and her clitoris was burning, but not in a pleasant way. Still, her mind went into a kind of numb form of semi-awareness, dazed perhaps. She had no idea how long she was bound in that position.

  And then it changed again. Her head throbbed, and she groaned as she felt her legs straightened out, felt the pressure leave her arms. Her legs were lifted up... then up higher still, and spread open. She grunted as she felt the pressure on her ankles, moaned as her arms were pulled down and apart, as the blood rushed to her head. Behind the blindfold, she blinked rapidly, her mind coming back to something near wakefulness.

  She was hanging upside down, she realized. She was hanging upside down, hung by her ankles, her legs spread quite wide. Her arms were also held down and apart, tied or chained, she knew not. Her head pounded as the blood flowed down into it and she felt herself becoming somewhat dizzy. Gradually, slowly, the sensation eased.

  She could feel fingers at her sex, groaned as the thick dildo was eased up and out of her. But almost immediately another was pushed down deep. She heard the crackle of fire, and then the blindfold was swept from her eyes. She saw a form retreating in the darkness, then stared, upside down, at the fire crackling in the fire place.

  The fire was reflected against her body, which seemed reddish in the mirrors in the corners. But there was more to it than that, she soon realized. She saw a light source there between her legs, and thought at first she must be imagining it. But no, it was a candle. A thick candle, sprouting from the juncture of her thighs, buried deep down inside her, where it ached.

  She gaped at it in disbelief, staring at the flickering candle in the mirrors. A strange sense of almost admiration gripped her, if outrage could be tinged with approval. She simply hadn't the perverse imagination to ever think of doing or experiencing such a thing!

  At least the pressure on her arms and wrists was minor now, and whatever had been tied to her nipples was now removed. They had hurt when that was done, but now they throbbed hotly, and she felt a strange pins and needles sensation from them which made her long to touch them.

  Perverts, she thought dazedly.

  Was it day yet? She tried to see, but that required substantial effort to twist her head and try and look behind her. She could not quite manage it. But then she realized that cocking her head straight back, until she was facing the floor just behind her, allowed her to roll her eyes up towards the windows. There were heavy curtains drawn, and she could not tell if there was light behind.

  The effort, unfortunately, made her body jerk somewhat, and she cried out in surprised pain as hot wax spilled from the candle down the front of her body, across her clitoris. The sudden pain caused her to jerk violently, and more wax was spilled, trickling down her abdomen. The wax slowly cooled, of course, and became much more bearable, yet still it was a warm and tight against her flesh.

  And she was still thirsty. Hungry too. Odd, she thought, that she could feel such simple and familiar needs given the bizarre situation in which she found herself.

  She felt a surge of that dark heat, but there wasn't enough, other than the penetration of the candle and her tingling nipples, to feed it. Her own sense of dark arousal at the sight of what was done to her could only go so far, and slowly her mind started to drift again as time passed.

  She was again wakened from her dazed state by movement, by pressure, by a shifting of her body. Her eyes felt red and hot and heavy, fluttering weakly as she was lowered to the rug. She lay on her belly for some minutes, her head dizzy from returning blood. She felt her ankles pulled up and back, felt them attached to her wrists, then felt a pressure on both as she was raised upwards.

  She groaned weakly, gasping as she felt herself hanging in mid-air again. This time by ankles and wrists locked together, her body bowed again, her heavy head hanging low as she swung slowly in place.

  “Would you like a drink, little slave girl?”

  The words caught her attention, for she was extremely thirsty by then. She raised her head tiredly. The light in the room was dim, but it wasn't coming solely from the fireplace now. The candle seemed to have been removed from
her body, at least, but she felt something there, something inside her. Had she not noticed them removing it and sliding the dildo back? She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything any more.

  She saw a hand before her holding a cock. No. No, it was a dildo, a very realistically shaped phallic object. The helmet head pressed against her cheek, and she felt the moisture on it. Then hands undid the strap behind her head and slowly and gently worked the ball gag out of her mouth.

  She cried out weakly, her jaw stiff and aching, and panted for breath. Then she felt pressure on her scalp as her hair was gathered up, twined into some sort of braid or tail. She groaned as it pulled her head up and back until she was staring straight ahead. Then it was fixed in place somehow above her, perhaps tied to the same thing as her ankles and wrists.

  The pain in her scalp was a sharp ache, but spread out enough that it was not overly distracting compared to the ache in the rest of her body.

  The head of the dildo brushed her lower lip, and she felt the moisture on it immediately, licking at it. As she did she felt a buzzing sensation against her sex, only for a moment.

  She struggled to talk, but then the dildo pushed into her mouth and she moaned in relief at its moisture. Her mouth was bone dry, her throat even worse. The dildo was wet and she sucked and licked at it somewhat desperately. And as she did she felt that buzzing against her sex again, like a vibrator. She ignored it. It didn't hurt, so it didn't matter. Her mind was numb, a blur, and her focus, such as it was, was only on the most immediate of her needs.

  The dildo drew back, no longer wet, her furnace dry mouth having sucked the moisture off it like a sponge. It returned, twisting and moving in a soft yellow light that was focused on it from above. She could see little of the person holding it beyond their forearm. Her glassy eyes were focused on the dildo and the water dripping softly from it.

  The dildo slid from side to side along her lower lip, and she thrust her tongue out, moaning at the feel of moisture. Then it slid slowly into her mouth and her cracked lips closed greedily upon it. Perhaps instinctively, she began to suck, and she detected more moisture. She sucked harder as the buzzing between her legs continued.