by Argus
I want you to reach up and feel the base of the dildo, slave. Do you feel it?”
Hannah's fingers touched the thing, and she felt surprised at the thickness.
“Y-Yes, master.”
“Do you feel how tight you are around it, slave?” he asked softly.
“Yes, master,” she said, fingers circling the dildo where it entered her.
“Use the fingers of your other hand. Touch your clitoris, slave girl.”
Eyes blinking, Hannah obeyed, the flush spreading down her face and into her chest.
“What a lovely sight, slave. What a gorgeous sight I see there before me. Close your fingers around the base of that dildo, slave, and draw it slowly out.”
Hannah couldn't help herself. She was starting to become aroused again. She gripped the dildo and felt the resistance within her tight pussy as she slid it slowly out.
“Far enough, sex slave. Now push it back in.”
Hannah groaned against her will as she pushed the dildo back into her body.
“Continue, sex slave. And rub your clitoris.”
Her flush deepened as Hannah obeyed. She was... she was...
“Masturbate for me, slave,” he said.
The word jolted her, and her hands paused. The crop snapped across her buttocks with stinging force and she cried out in pain.
“Continue, slave,” he ordered.
Her hands continued as Hannah's mind squirmed against the thought of what she was doing. She'd had sex with men before, had exposed herself to numerous men, before and after her short time as a stripper, but she had never masturbated! That was such an intensely private act!
And yet she was doing it, and knew he was right behind her, watching.
Her heart beat faster, her body flushing with more than embarrassment as her fingers hesitantly rubbed at her swollen clitoris and she pumped the dildo inside her.
“Roll your hips, sex slave,” he said. “Roll your hips, slut. Grind them while you masturbate for my amusement.”
Hannah felt another jolt of embarrassment, but somehow also a hot rush of liquid heat as she obeyed. This was so shockingly wicked and outrageous! And yet it aroused her deep within her dark mind, so that she was very quickly almost feverish with the sense of uncontrollable erotic need. She was gasping and panting and moaning as she thrust the dildo in and out, as her fingers rubbed with increasing hunger against her burning clitoris.
“Stop!”
She gasped, frozen in place as much because she was startled as obedient.
“Hands behind your back. Now!”
Moaning, she obeyed, and felt them bound together again.
“Roll onto your back.”
She obeyed again, staring up at him.
“Knees up and back, spread them, slave.”
Moaning again, she obeyed, flushed with heat and hunger, watching as he squatted before her, crop in hand. He pressed the tip of the crop against her clitoris, the tip, which held the long, thin, flat flap of leather.
“Nasty little slut,” he taunted.
He rubbed it back and forth, and Hannah squirmed helplessly, moaning as she stared.
He drew the tip back and slapped it down and she gasped at the brief stinging sensation.
“Slut,” he said.
Again he slapped the thing against her, and again, then again, faster, and faster. He used just the tip, holding the crop only a foot below it so that it was a blur as it slapped against her burning clitoris. She ached, she throbbed, the sensations bursting within her like firecrackers, and then the orgasm took her mind and shook it like a dog with a rat.
“You see, slave? You have no reason to reprove me. You are nothing but a filthy little slut, a sex slave, a low creature of flesh and hunger. Soon you will realize that deep within you.”
Chapter Eight
The boots were amazing. They were thigh-high, and perfectly fitting. They laced up on the insides, rather than being zipped, and rose to within a few inches of her pussy. They had five inch stiletto heels, of course, and were of soft black leather. They matched the gloves he put on her, which rose almost to her shoulders, made of soft kid leather.
Gloves. They were not gloves. She simply didn't know what else to call them. They had no fingers. Not even thumbs. So they certainly weren't mittens.
In addition, there was the halter. The halter was a perfect match to boots and gloves in its dark, soft leather contours. It cut across her chest just below her breasts, with two inches pressing upward against the underside of her breasts, but it covered them not at all. The bottom strapped behind her back. But another pair of straps, thickening at the sides, rose up on the outside of her breasts, then thinned as the straps were drawn in across her chest, crossing each other to go over her shoulders.
The effect, of course, was to squeeze her breasts in together from the sides and the top outside corners. And just in case that wasn't enough, another strap cut horizontally across her chest just at the top of her breasts, squeezing them down a little.
The effect was rather startling to Hannah. Her breasts were squeezed together on all sides as if on display at a show. Which, she supposed, they were, in a sense.
Then there was the 'thong' though it certainly didn't resemble any she'd ever seen – or imagined. It was more a strap, a stronger leather strap, with a second strap attached like a T. The upper part of the T went around her waist – tightly – and the lower part, about two inches wide, descended down the middle of her abdomen, went between her thighs, and then, narrowing, went up between her buttocks to fasten behind to the top part.
Tightly.
Attached to the vertical part of the T were a thick butt plug and a matching dildo, both leather, both inserted before the straps were tightened.
The front of the lower part had a hole cut in it, round, shaped like a heart, directly over her clitoris. The leather squeezed in on her flesh, and so, that portion of her which was not squeezed in – her clitoris, and the bit of flesh around it – were squeezed out.
There was a small chain attached to the front of the thing, and on it hung a small spiked metal ball smaller than a marble which hung directly over that opening. As she moved, the little ball would bounce and swing, occasionally – or not so occasionally – striking her swollen clitoris.
And then there was the collar.
Hannah had felt a little shock on seeing it. She'd felt a strange churning mix of anxiety and heat when he'd slipped it around her neck. It was firm, but did nothing to restrict her breathing. And it matched the rest of the fetish gear he'd found. It was black leather with a large metal ring in the center.
O'Neil had slipped a thin cord through that ring, the one with the metal loops on the ends. Those loops were then tightened around her nipples. He had adjusted the length somehow so that, as she stood upright, unmoving, it was precisely measured so as to be perfectly taut but not pulling on her throbbing pink buttons.
But of course, as she moved, her breasts moved. They didn't move much given the way the halter squeezed them in and up and down, but they did move, and so her nipples moved – or tried to. They couldn't, of course, so there was a constant tugging at them with every step she took.
The strap across her mouth was thick enough to cover most of her from just below her nose to just above her chin. And like the strange 'thong' there was a dildo attached to the inside. It was thick, but short, more like a very large cockhead, and it was stuffed into her mouth, the tip threatening to go down her throat, but not quite long enough to do so.
It was time to travel. It was time to go home, O'Neil said.
He had her practice walking, the crop ready at hand if he didn't approve of her posture, then attached a lead, a leash, she thought with a sense of outrage and indignation, to a ring on her belt, leading her down the stairs and through the main house.
Her face flushed as the eyes of men and women lit upon her. She had displayed herself naked many times, and to
more people, but this was entirely different.
She dropped her head but that brought a quick slashing blow from the crop, making her bottom burn.
“Head up, shoulders back, chest out,” he ordered.
She obeyed, flushing further.
He spoke to the others in Gaelic. There were a number of back and forth conversations between he and them as Hannah stood awkwardly and embarrassed, practically forgotten save for the many flickering eyes on her.
Then everyone started moving about. O'Neil headed down the hall, and she had to hurry to follow in her long, stiletto heels. He went to the door and outside, and once again Hannah found herself out of doors and naked, or worse than naked. It was daylight this time, but heavily overcast. She looked around but could see nothing but the front of a stone house, hedges, trees and gardens, and a tall stone wall surrounding them.
She was placed into the limousine, this time on a seat facing back, and strapped in place. Then O'Neil and another man got into the rear. They still spoke in Gaelic, ignoring her, though their eyes rarely went long without lighting on her body.
The car moved off, and she blinked at the scenery as it picked up speed and headed out of the gate. They were on a paved road, a country highway perhaps, and moving quickly. She could see two other cars, or SUVs behind them. She wondered if they were going to Ireland, and if so what exactly she was expected to find out given she was utterly immobile all the time and had no way to communicate anything anyway.
She supposed they expected her to not be so 'tied up' the entire time. Perhaps this was in the nature of an introductory thing, like training. And afterward she'd be more free to move about, perhaps to do chores or something. Surely she wouldn't be strapped down to a bed or hanging from her wrists twenty four hours a day for weeks!
The drive was uneventful. She had no idea what O'Neil was talking about, and again wondered how Smith expected her to be able to tell anything given her lack of familiarity with the language.
She thought over what O'Neil had said, about her being 'less than human'. It made her indignant, but there was also a sharp little dark erotic pulse at the thought of herself being entirely outside what would be considered acceptable behavior. Yes, it was silly. But at the same time, if she wasn't human, but some sort of 'other' called 'slave' then her behavior was what would be expected of a s slave girl – a sex slave.
In a way, that made it less embarrassing and allowed her some relief from the guilt of acting like some sort of horrible slut. Was that the idea, she wondered, or was he just that incredibly arrogant?
They turned off the road and went through a tall chain link fence, and she discovered they were at a private airport. There was no control tower that she saw, just a long low building, and in the distance, a few more. The car drove past the building and pulled up in front of where a private jet sat. The door opened, and the men got out.
She sat in the car for at least ten minutes while they moved about, doing whatever they were doing, and talking to each other. Then a man she recognized from the club opened the door, unstrapped her, and pulled her out by the arm. He took the 'leash' and led her to the jet, and then up the steps and into the cabin.
Hannah had not been on a lot of aircraft, and certainly none like this one. It was luxuriantly furnished, and instead of the plain forward-looking seats she expected, there were a number of thickly cushioned seats almost like leather recliners up and down the windows. They were turned at different angles, indicating they were on some sort of metal turntable, and the man strapped her to one, gave her breast a casual squeeze, then left her there.
The only thing that really surprised her was that she wasn't at all surprised by the squeeze. In fact, she ignored it, at first. Only as she sat there alone thinking on her position did she consider just how unaffected she was by what she'd once regarded as an intimate act. Her world view was changing, and she wasn't at all sure it was for the better.
A steward walked up the aisle, primly ignoring her, and then O'Neil and his people got on board. It was the same group of men who'd seen and fondled her at the strip club, along with two more, and she blinked nervously as they took their seats for takeoff. Several of them smirked at her, and she felt her stomach thrumming anxiously.
The aircraft started moving, and then took off, climbing into the air and headed for, she presumed, Ireland. The men undid their seat belts and relaxed while the steward served drinks. Hannah stayed as she was, and again recalled O'Neil's comment about her not being human, but being something less than human. Like a pet. People could ignore pets except when they wanted to play with them, she thought.
She was once again shut out of the conversation, unable to understand what was being said. Rather like a pet, a dog, she thought, hearing all those voices but without any idea of what they meant.
There was a strange mental adjustment to that, to thinking of herself as some sort of pet, a pet slave girl, say. Not quite human. It meant she wasn't bound by the same sorts of rules, the same societal requirements of a 'human' girl.
If she could actually persuade herself of this then she wouldn't feel as guilty, as self-conscious, as embarrassed. What was more, the idea was outrageous, and that meant darkly arousing. Not that it took an awful lot, given the sorts of looks she was getting, the kind of casual lust she saw in the men. There was just her, naked and helpless, and eight horny men who had her totally at their mercy.
Her insides squirmed at the thought of that, and the flush of heat in her spread downward.
She sat nervously waiting for what would happen, though with an erotically charged undertone in her mind, for almost an hour before one of the men said something while looking at her. Others looked at her too. There was laughter, and a few of what she took to be ribald comments. Then one of them got up and walked to her. He leaned over her and undid the seat belt. With a quick pull on her hair, he drew her forward and pushed her onto her knees, then moved behind her and worked at the strap around her head.
He undid it, and then pulled the dildo-gag thing out of her mouth. There were more comments that brought snickers and laughter and she blushed as she worked her jaw. Then she felt him unstrapping her arms. The strap came free and she groaned as her shoulders were finally released and she could move her arms again! The man left her and returned to his seat and Hannah spent several minutes working her arms, twisting and bending and rubbing them.
O'Neil snapped his fingers, and she looked up anxiously.
“Knees,” he ordered.
All of them were looking at her!
Hannah flushed and took the proper position, heels beside her buttocks and knees spread wide. That got more comments in Gaelic and more snickers and she felt the sexual tension growing within her.
“Hands and knees,” O'Neil said.
Flushing more, Hannah fell forward onto her hands and knees, very much aware of all the eyes on her.
“Face down.”
Swallowing, she slid forward and down, her now-throbbing breasts pillowing out against the carpet, her bottom raised high and legs spread.
More comments greeted this, and a general snickering and laughter which made her face heat even further. She wasn't sure why this was so much more intimate, so much more embarrassing than performing on stage, but it was. It was like the difference between wearing her bikini on the beach and wearing it in a shopping mall.
“Hands and knees,” he said.
She pushed herself up onto all fours again, then motioned her forward with his finger. Hannah gulped and then crawled forward, past the men on either side of the aisle, four to a side, with him on the end of the row. She stopped before O'Neil, and he twirled his finger, indicating she should turn around and present her bottom to him.
Hannah obeyed, licking her lips anxiously as he reached for her leg. There was a slim leather strap going around one of the boots near the top. It circled her leg twice, but she'd paid it no attention as it seemed to be merely a decorative part
of the boot. Now he unsnapped it so the strap hung loose, then lifted her ankle up and back, pressing it against her bottom. He wrapped the strap around it and buckled it in place again, then did the same for the other boot.
He snapped for her to turn towards him again, and after obeying, she noticed that there were similar straps on the gloves, up near the top. He bent her arms at the elbows so her wrists were pressed up against her upper arms near her shoulders, then slid the straps around to pin them in place.
“On all fours,” he said.
Hannah fell back down, but of course not to her hands and knees now, but her elbows and knees. At least there was some padding in both areas as under O'Neil's order, she crawled back along the line of men, then turned and crawled back to him again, her stomach churning. Now she truly was like an animal! A sexual animal! A pet! She couldn't stand if she tried!
There was more Gaelic conversation, more snickering and male laughter, then O'Neil pointed at the man on the row on her right, the last man just before where O'Neil sat.
“Pleasure him,” he said.
The word was a shock to her system, and she turned wide eyes on the smirking young man beside him. She recognized him from the strip club, and so, in a sense, all of them, or at least, most of them had already seen her doing just about everything already. Even so, her chest tightened and her stomach started to flutter.
Her mind rebelled but she quashed it quickly. There was no real choice, she thought. If she refused O'Neil would simply punish her and then insist on her doing it anyway. Or worse, what if he simply sent her home? Then everything she'd already undergone would have been for nothing and she'd still not be able to save her family's home. She'd performed oral sex in front of them before, she told herself, steeling herself to obeying. She'd survive doing it again.
All this took place in a moment of thought, and then she was rising and sliding up between his legs, stomach churning, chest tight, her bound 'gloved' hands suddenly reminding her she had no means to work a zipper or anything else. There were more laughing comments, and the man undid his own zipper, then pulled his cock out for her. She leaned in, elbows on the seat to either side of his hips and licked at it, again deciding in the flick of a thought, to compromise between a fast blowjob, and something slower and lingering like O'Neil had her do last time.