Trained to Obey 1

by Bruce McLachlan

  With a yank the material gave a sharp shredding howl and was torn asunder. The shock of the removal made Kirsten jerk to attention and then melt as the torn ribbons were flung casually aside and the woman’s mouth lowered into Kirsten’s exposed mound, her eyes sparkling with iniquity, her hands pinning Kirsten’s thighs down, holding her firmly in place and serving her up to an intimate devouring.

  Kirsten arched her back and choked back a howl of rapture as the broadness of the woman’s tongue poured against her aroused clit. Her hands flashed out to the sides and clenched into the satin, taking firm holds as though bracing to endure the ferocity of the pleasure.

  Gritting her teeth, mewling softly, Kirsten craned her neck upwards, her respiration sporadic as the woman held her down and attended to her with such skill that Kirsten thought she was going to pass out. Suckling and kissing, thrusting her tongue deep, fixating in bursts on her most tender regions, the woman drew Kirsten steadily towards the most potent orgasm she had ever experienced. No man, woman or toy had ever cultivated such bliss for her.

  The woman’s hands removed themselves from her thighs, the loss of the holds almost undetected as Kirsten was left separated from all awareness save that of carnal delight. Similarly, the sound of buckles tittering softly to themselves failed to reach her ears, her moans and panting gasps of endurance concealing the subtle tunes.

  With a muted cry Kirsten felt her upper body bolt up from the sheets, her head stretched up, her mouth wide, her hands clawing at the sheets as her legs trembled and fought to remain apart. The shattering eruption of sexual release coursed through her like lightning, bringing her into fits as the agile tongue continued to pour more bliss into her convulsing body.

  The woman’s lips fled and hands grabbed her right leg, throwing it up and over, flipping Kirsten onto her front. The same hands snatched her hips and hauled her rear into the air. Corrupted by the lingering intensity of her climax Kirsten allowed herself to be manipulated, her body unable to respond to any command her apathetic mind might issue.

  The warm after-haze was ripped aside and Kirsten shoved her face into the sheets and unleashed a piercing screech of reply as she was penetrated by a single deep thrust. The jelly dildo was deeply ribbed and jolted her hypersensitive tissue on its peaks and troughs as it thundered into her. Her clitoris was rattled by the delving thrust, the insertion bringing every muscle and tendon to abrupt and frenzied tension.

  Before she had even recovered from the intensity of being so drastically filled by the strap on, the woman was pulling back almost to the point of exit and then fully driving it back into her.

  Her features jumped up, her hands scratching at the material before her, the satin damp with tears and rabid spittle as she jerked and shuddered. Dressur held tightly to Kirsten’s hips, holding her steady so that her artificial manhood could plunder her subject, her own latex-clad pelvis slapping to Kirsten’s quaking rump.

  Kirsten couldn’t decide whether to encourage more or protest, her senses unable to process the alien sensations, for even though there was exquisite pleasure the savagery of the woman’s drives and the girth of the trespasser added a flash of pain. This discomfort was increased when one of the woman’s hands jumped back and slapped Kirsten’s buttocks, depositing a zone of prickly heat. The harsh swats of her palm continued, the applause of latex to flesh joining the rhythmic chorus of hips to buttocks.

  The hot flashes of input made Kirsten squeak and writhe, momentarily considering resistance to escape the slow methodical chastisement. But if she moved, she would no longer be able to relish the ravishment of the strap on, and the lure of the exquisite penetration was simply too delightful to resist. The warm heat in her buttocks grew with each slap, each application of her palm feeding the warmth, turning a mild discomfort into a blistering presence that she could barely endure.

  Once more Kirsten was ascending towards ecstasy, the powerful insertion of the toy leaving her a helpless wreck beneath its attack and that of the spanking hand. Burying her face once more into the sheets lest her keening holler echo through the entire neighbourhood, she screwed her eyes shut and steeled herself for another titanic explosion of rhapsody.

  Dressur clearly spotted the moment of climax and as she intensified the savagery of her thrusts, stabbing her length into Kirsten’s depths, she dropped her hands to Kirsten’s shoulders. Digging her nails in she drew back along the full expanse of Kirsten’s back. The furrows that were scratched into her sent a corrupting spasm of pain into her orgasm, intensifying it as though passing the response through a lens. Kirsten arched as the nails ran along her skin, her howl of release stepping up through octaves to become a bellowing screech that spent all the air in her lungs and still demanded more, leaving her frozen, trying to exhale and continue the howl while lacking the fuel to fund it.

  Kirsten slumped indolently forward onto the bed, the woman following her, lying on her, the dildo still sheathed within Kirsten’s spasming tracts, her womb clutching to the monster in fits.

  Lost in a somnolent torpor Kirsten stared blankly forward, her eyelashes sparkling with moisture, her brow likewise moist with sweat. Twitching, she remained subdued beneath the woman, her back smarting as the scratches continued to make their presence known.

  The rubber-sheathed knuckles of the woman traced down the side of Kirsten’s face, running down her slack cheek, soothing her. For a moment she relaxed more fully, her mind free of all trouble before she was brought back to an excruciating tensed pose when the rod fled her tracts, galloping out, the ridges thrashing her innards and stealing the last reserves of her vitality. Sinking back into the cool sheets, the ghost of its existence continued to loiter within her womb, her anatomy shuddering in shock and exhaustion. In mere moments she was slipping into sleep, her mind drifting into the deepest most content slumber she had known in years, all her concerns and fears temporarily cast aside by the storm of carnal pleasure.

  Chapter Two

  Kirsten awoke with a panicked start, filled with gnawing fright. Glancing left and right she saw no sign of the woman. A look to the bedside alarm clock revealed that she had been asleep for over eight hours. Her jaw dropped open and her soul went cold with terror.

  Leaping from the bed she felt her enfeebled legs fold beneath her and she dropped onto her knees. Spotting her gown she grabbed it and forced herself back up, fighting off the lethargy in her limbs and the after-effects of overdue sleep to dash down the stairs, sprinting for her sanctum. Cursing her lapse, she ran into the basement and slammed the door shut, leaning on it to reassure herself that she was safe again.

  She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid. Eight hours of simply lying in an unshielded room, just tempting a passing Scanner team to pick her up with ease and arrest her. What was wrong with her? After all her years of perfected security she had risked everything in one foolish gesture.

  Calming her troubled thoughts and racing pulse she strode to her true bed and flopped onto it, feeling giddy and nauseous from such frantic activity straight after sleep. The scratches made themselves known as she lay on them, the tender lines prompting her into sitting up and checking her back in the mirror.

  Eight torso length lines ran straight down her milky skin. Kirsten looked over them for a moment, the memories of the previous night washing through her thoughts now that her fears had been allayed. She was safe. She could afford to dwell on the indulgence that had almost cost her so grievously.

  The touch of the woman was almost tangible upon her, the experience so vivid she could relive it by thought alone. Settling back onto the covers she recalled the smell of subtle perfume and latex, the scent of the woman an aphrodisiac that instantly roused her lust once more.

  Stretching onto the sheets she ferreted under her pillow and snatched her ever-faithful vibrator. Turning it on she skimmed the rigid plastic finger between her legs, mulling over the encounter, hungry for more. Her adoration for the woman she knew only as Dressur was emphasised by Kirsten’s trust in
her. After Kirsten had passed out, Dressur had simply left the house. She had not stolen, explored, or done anything that might threaten Kirsten’s fragile existence. This singular act convinced Kirsten to risk another encounter.

  After letting the vibrator take the keen edge from her frustrating arousal she was able to think more clearly. The orgasm was insipid compared to the ferocity of the previous versions, but it sufficed to calm her mood.

  Opening the channels to the escort bureau she once more scheduled an appointment and was delighted to be accepted for that evening. Afterwards she tried to work, to continue finishing the last touches to the programming contracts she had accepted, but with the weight of the looming encounter in her mind she couldn’t keep the necessary level of concentration. By the end of the day she had achieved virtually nothing save to bloat her mind with a frantic lascivious need.

  As she had done countless times before she ordered and paid for her dinner via the net and answered the door with a portable scrambler at her side. She had concealed the mechanism as a large handbag. The bulky device posessed a feeble effect radius and fleeting longevity. It barely allowed her time to answer the door, gain her purchase and get back to the sheltered area before the batteries gave out.

  After dinner she showered, waxed her legs and once more began the process of preparing for her exquisite guest, dressing in identical attire as before.

  When the doorbell rang she rushed upstairs and heedless of the consequences of remaining in the upper levels of the house, she escorted the woman back upstairs without any word between them. Both knew that conversation was superfluous. They were here for physical gratification.

  Dressur dropped her coat by the bed, The clunk of something weighty and metal in the pockets drawing Kirsten’s curiosity. The woman was dressed scantily this night, having swapped her comprehensive layers of latex for far more libertine attire. Fishnet stockings rolled up her legs to clutch around her thighs with a wide dark band. Patent ankle boots were matched with her vinyl thong and strapless bra, the garments clinging to her body and holding firmly, the rippling plastic catching the light on its dark slick surfaces.

  Pushing Kirsten onto the mattress and away from the secret hoard in the coat the woman leaned her hands on Kirsten’s shoulders, propping herself up on them and staring down at her from above. For a moment it seemed as though Kirsten was being examined, assessed for some as yet unknown purpose.

  Settling onto Kirsten’s mid-section, Dressur sat down, trapping her, leaving Kirsten staring up hungrily across the gloss-clad body as she absorbed the image of the radiant woman who straddled her.

  Leaning down, the woman lifted Kirsten’s chin and demanded a brief kiss as her other hand snaked down the side of the bed and into her coat.

  Kirsten did not resist as her hands were drawn up towards the headboard and a sudden clatter of steel teeth sounded. Glancing up she saw that she had been secured with a set of handcuffs, the shackles threaded through one of the metal struts running along the top of the bed.

  For a moment she was filled with a sense of concern, but the energetic kiss of the woman soon melted her distrust and had her relishing the sense of control, of being compelled to acquiescence to whatever the woman wanted to do to her.

  “Now you belong to me,” she crooned, letting her lips wander about Kirsten’s neck, the freed hands working the breasts spread before her.

  Suddenly the woman arose and swung off of Kirsten, kneeling down beside the bed and rummaging in her coat. The flight of all sensual input brought Kirsten out of her haze with a befuddled start.

  “Wh…what’s going on?” she questioned, her voice possessed of an uneasy tremor.

  The woman arose holding a cellphone and an automatic pistol. Flipping open the phone, she pulled the antenna out with her teeth and pressed a single key before putting it to her ear. Kirsten was petrified—she couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe as she stared at the muzzle aimed directly at her.

  “She’s secure. You may move your unit in, captain,” she said with impassive tones and switched off the phone, dropping it casually on her coat and focusing her entire attention to her aim.

  “Wh…what! No! No! It can’t be true! Not you!” Kirsten yelled, tugging at the bonds as she realised she had been set up. Dressur remained icy, offering no emotion to the woman she had betrayed and effectively condemned to slow death.

  The sound of her front door being shattered under a battering ram and the stampede of booted feet into her house rose from the ground floor and Kirsten’s mind flew into panicked automatic.

  With a slash of her leg she kicked out with incredible speed, striping the pistol from the woman’s grasp and smashing it against the wall. Before the woman could dive for the lost weapon, Kirsten applied her full brawn to the cuffs, snapping the interlocking chain with a roar of effort and pain as the bands dug deep into her skin.

  With a nimble flip she danced from the bed, kicking off her shoes and landing on the balls of her feet before sprinting maniacally for the door. When she threw it open she saw a squad of dark forms charging up the stairs. With a squeak of shock she slammed the door shut and dashed in the other direction. She bolted for the window and at the last moment kicked into the floor. As a flying spear of motion she quickly laced her forearms before her and ducked her head into their protection. The glass panels caved in under the impact, filling the room with a splintering crashing note. Her arms erupted with a shock of pain, the shards and wooden struts cutting at her in revenge for their destruction, and suddenly she was immersed in the chill night air.

  Taking firm rein of her equilibrium as she plummeted, Kirsten cavorted and straightened herself, landing in a tight crouch that absorbed the shock of the landing and punched two deep footprints into the soil. Falling shards sank into the earth like glass fangs all about her, several pieces grazing her body, the trauma unnoticed as adrenaline coursed through her. Kirsten caught sight of dark troop carriers parked before her house and the flashing lights of police cars blockading each end of the street as backup. Instantly she dashed for the shadows, leaping the low fences of her neighbours’ gardens and streaking into the night, her bare breasts bouncing, her skin tingling with cold and fear as her stockinged feet pounded the ground.

  Chapter Three

  Pivoting at her hips Kirsten slashed out with her leg in a high arc, slamming the heel of her speeding foot into the face of the soldier. The flesh-muffled crack of bone sounded and a sudden flare of pain erupted in her joint. With a violent throe the burly private was catapulted backwards, trailing flecks of red from his broken nose before being stopped by a tall trunk.

  The impact drove the wind from his lungs in a croaking exhale, further dazing the armoured warrior. His OICW assault rifle fell from his loose fingers and vanished into the tall grasses.

  How she loathed the uniform upon him. It had become a symbol of all she despised and feared and it felt good to exorcise some of her pent up and long suppressed rage in the persecution of such a bigoted murderer.

  The uniform that sparked her anger was similar to standard military dress—loose combat trousers, boots, flak vest and jacket, webbing adorned with pouches and several grenades, plus a snug-fitting helmet which incorporated a radio. But the usual camouflage patchwork of greens and browns had been turned to a stark matt black and the hated heraldry of the KGP was applied freely across the garb—the lightning bolt symbol set over a cross announcing his allegiance both boldly and proudly.

  Airing a quiet hiss Kirsten ran forward, her stockinged feet stamping lightly across the soft grasses of the woodland surface, gathering momentum and adding further virulence to a sweeping knee into his groin.

  With a gurgling cry the soldier doubled up, the cruel blow throwing him from his dazed stupor and dropping his face into her upsweeping open-handed strike. The rising palm and diving head met with a loud snap that wrenched his head back, throwing him into a rigid stance before his consciousness trickled away on the back of extreme trauma. />
  Gradually the soldier went slack, slowly slipping down against the supporting bark, his eyes glazing and rolling upward to stare into his sockets.

  Clapping a hand to the brow of the sagging helmet Kirsten stopped his descent and listened to the chinstrap groan as it fought to hold the weight currently wilting upon it. The face of her enemy was indolent, flushed with purple from the contusions she had wrought, while additional flows of crimson wove from his wounds, as he lay helpless before her.

  Pondering for a moment she found her conscience to be a niggling voice that pawed at her resolve, picking at her motives like scabs, trying to stop her from finishing him. All regret and reserve vanished as she deliberately conjured up the acts she had seen these zealots perpetrating, because she was intent on doing this deed for her own safety as much as a thirst for vengeance.

  The lucid engrams of persecution were drenched in rancour and had Kirsten screwing up her face with the flavour of this rising bitterness. A swollen lump stuck in her throat, her eyes were stung by the gathering of burning tears and with a strained choke of loathing she launched her knuckles into the exposed throat, striking with all her might, setting lose an atrabilious growl as they hit home. The massive displacement of flesh parted the vertebrae cleanly, unleashing a brief spasm and a distant snap of moist tissues.