Trained to Obey 1

by Bruce McLachlan

  The first blow of the cane tore into her rear, jerking her upright as a hail of blows followed it. The cruel wooden sceptre focused on her legs, slashing into the exposed flesh as she tugged against her bonds, fighting to get her arms free so she might cover the harried parts. Her fingers strained down to try and bestow shelter only to have the rigid rod slam to her digits, untroubled by missing the intended target and just as ready to make her hands accept their caustic lick.

  Spinning around she slammed her back to the door, unable to take the blows to her legs anymore. The tyrant stood before her, a scowl of irritation carved into her grave features as she swung the whistling stick into Kirsten without pause or relent, dispensing her own justice with vivid weals.

  Suddenly able to single out areas of even greater sensitivity, the Major began to apply steady, even strokes to Kirsten’s assets. The weals being drawn across her breasts were more intolerable and she instantly sought to whirl once more and protect them. But the woman had gained a taste for such a mode of chastisement and snatched her student’s hair, closing a fist on the locks and using them as a firm and painful reign by which she twisted back and held Kirsten open to the tempestuous blizzard.

  With her head bent back, bringing her neck to the verge of breaking, she squirmed in the grasp, her scalp flickering with riots of suffering as her torso danced beneath the biting burn of the cane.

  “If you continue to disobey, I will have to be more stringent with you, slave!” growled the officer, applying her strokes with added virulence.

  The flesh of Kirsten’s breasts rippled under the ferocity of the attack, the horrendous agony more than she had ever felt, causing her to claw at her flesh in the hope of reaching up and protecting herself.

  The blows stopped suddenly, leaving her panting for air, her nostrils barely adequate to accommodate the needs her racing pulse enforced upon her breath. As she slowly recovered from the experience, the Major turned and drew her back to the room, keeping the mooring on her hair to make Kirsten walk on tip toe, grimacing as the fist tightened and stretched at her roots.

  Once back in the room her contorted elbows almost snapped from bearing the brunt of her torso as it was thrown into the chair with jarring force. As she lay crippled and exhausted, the Major began to apply the restraints, fastening her down tightly, stripping away her mobility with savage yanks to the belts.

  She had been utterly conquered. The woman had broken her to her will yet again. Resistance was useless against such a remorseless Mistress.

  The calm after her beating and the stern hold into her hair helped make her more amiable to her restraint, the soft brush of leather across her flesh almost titillating. The tightening of straps, pressing into her, holding her down against her will, rendered her completely vulnerable to whatever foul deeds the woman might conjure. Kirsten closed her eyes and bit to her gag, delighting in the sensations and the warm keen pulse of the welts through her skin.

  After loosening her arms from the cuffs the limbs had their few seconds of freedom taken away again and they were trapped. The last restraint was a wide strap to be tied across her stomach, the broad strip hauling in like a corset, stopping even the slightest wriggle.

  Defeated, Kirsten lay in the cocoon of bonds, her skin running with small bursts of angry heat, the numerous contusions darkening from a wild red to a deep and testy mauve.

  “There, you look far more comfortable now that you can’t resist,” said the woman as she straddled Kirsten’s thighs, seating herself on the captive, watching as Kirsten’s eyes widened as the rubber canvas of her torso and breasts remained mere inches from her face.

  “I know you like the smell of latex, slave. I also know you find me irresistible. You were so eager to have me again after our first little session, well now you have me forever. Of course it’s as your owner rather than your lover,” she said with assurance, moving closer, letting her breasts brush the tip of Kirsten’s nose, filling her world with the overpowering aroma. Kirsten cursed the gag, the shimmering body before her making her yearn to lick at it, to kiss the hidden breasts, to worship the woman who had enslaved her.

  “I know what you like and what repulses you, slave. The other night between us was fun, I admit that, even though I had to temper what I really wanted to do to you. Still, there’s plenty of time for that,” she continued, rotating her chest, each breath stretching at the firm layer of rubber. As a complete contradiction to her previous disdain the woman’s gloved fingers took hold of Kirsten’s nipples and started to roll them in rough pinches, absently caressing them as she spoke.

  “Your life was pathetic, slave. You lived as a prisoner, trapped in that basement, aching for fulfilment, secretly nurturing your desire to be ruled. You should be happy that I’ve liberated you from your dull existence. You’ll never be bored here, slave. I’ve countless treats to amuse you. You hungered for escape, to be free of your prison and to escape the persecution of the government, to evade the camps, well now you have it all, slave, and whether this pleases you or not, in time you will be appreciative,” she purred and applied a flash of strength to her holds, causing Kirsten to mewl and spasm against her trammels.

  Extracting herself from the splayed form of Kirsten, the officer moved to the wall and flipped a panel before touching one of the exposed buttons. A soft hydraulic whine issued from beneath Kirsten and she felt a cold rod rising up to press against her buttocks, the lubricated peak lifting her against her restraints, pushing apart the flesh and driving onward. With a squeal of alarm she fought to bar entry but the machine was intractable and continued its ascent, forcing apart her orifice and entering her rear. Squealing from the violation she hauled at the bonds afresh, clawing at the metal, the feel of the stiff, slick appliance penetrating her abdomen driving her into a frenzy. It continued to rise until a bulbous section leant against her anus, the large orb too big to be swallowed as it shoved against the opening, plugging it and making the skin pound as her tracts chewed on the massive insertion.

  “Are you ready to be cleaned?” Smirked the Major, staring from beneath a knotted brow as Kirsten tried to decline with imploring sobs. She knew she was going to be given an enema and though she wanted to accept it, she was afraid of the unknown.

  The woman’s thumb stroked another tab and as the belt at Kirsten’s stomach began to vibrate wildly, jiggling her belly in turbulent jerks, a sudden wash of warm fluid leapt up into her body. The savagery of the event was instantly shocking, making her throw herself against her restraints and continue her fight as the slithering presence continued to creep through her. The sensation of her tender tracts being filled by this fluid bane was distinct and strangely pleasurable. Though the humiliation of it was unsurpassed, it was also a derogation that added to her wry enjoyment of it.

  The pain of the cleansing began to increase as her massaged stomach was bloated with the volumes being mercilessly forced in, the pressure building up in her. The small quantities she could force out around the trespassing rod with its plugging sphere did little to alleviate the strangling reservoir of force budding within her and soon her belly felt as though it were on the verge of rupturing. The savage agitation accentuated the pain, the demands being placed upon her canals more than she could possibly bear. Howling into her gag in long drawn out wails she spasmed and jerked, trying to convey her promise of imminent and heinous trauma, assured that should another single measure be forced in her stomach would split asunder.

  Escorted to a scintillating peak of fright and suffering the influx ceased, leaving only the shuddering embrace of the belt to afflict her, the shaking of the internal ocean making it fight against her internal routes.

  The touch of another button started the withdrawal, the dwindling of the waters bringing a profound sense of relief that again had her stretching her physique against the leather. The effects of being drained were ecstatic, the shuddering siphoning of having this force within her removed like nothing she had ever experienced.

  The officer c
losed in and cupped Kirsten’s chin with her hand, lifting her angst-riddled countenance for scrutiny. For a moment she stared down impassively at the tear and sweat-streaked face and then a broad grin began to blossom across the nonchalant lips.

  “Did you enjoy that?” She mocked.

  Kirsten gritted her teeth against the gag to prevent herself from speaking in the weak moments after her experience. She wanted to say yes, that she had. The feel of the leather against her face, the woman’s stern grip and severe stare were promoting honest confession that she had to resist.

  Without an answer the woman thrust the face away before sashaying back to the wall.

  “Maybe I should repeat the process, just to make sure,” she offered with combinatory avidity, inspiring Kirsten to a beseeching gaze in the foolish hope of avoiding this fate. She had to convince the woman that she was against this, to deny her inherent vices.

  “What’s that?” The woman remarked lightly.

  Kirsten gurgled and danced within the immobilising straps, frantically trying to air her response, hoping that this was a genuine offer of clemency, her desperation washing away all knowledge that the officer was maliciously teasing her.

  “I guess that means yes. Brace yourself because here it comes, slave.”

  The button was pressed and the machinery beneath her kicked into pumping life, pouring the flood back into her, the fresh fluids punishing her belly, distending her innards with the awesome swell of force being pitilessly plunged inward until she was hissing into her gag from the discomfort.

  The entire procedure was as nightmarish as the first time. It was an act of cleansing that rivalled the cane for sheer insufferable mayhem.

  The sheathed pipe ceased its influx and began to guzzle the sea within her, drawing it out and unburdening her stomach, the vibrating belt serving to churn the quantities as she tried to keep still. Her skin gathered a glaze of sweat, the wondrous sensation making her shiver, the humiliation elevating it as she stared at the rubber-clad curves of her tormentor.

  “There, don’t you feel better for that? Now, let’s see what else we can do to afflict that naive little temperament of yours,” the villainous female uttered with frisson.

  A hand brushed a section of wall, making the curtain of steel draw back and expose an alcove dedicated to torture and punishment. The implements and tools presented within sparkled in the bright light, their polished halos filling the dark compartment in which they lay.

  Two nooses of slender rope were drawn out and held before her, the sight of the woven coils puzzling her as to their destination but still scaring her simply because she knew they would impart her with physical woe.

  A stern pinch snagged a nipple, crushing the tender morsel and rolling it between the harsh hold. The arcs of ghastly sensation weaving out from this tip caused purls to seep from the gag as she screwed up her eyes and clenched her teeth around the swollen sac in her mouth.

  The agonising organic clamp drew out the breast to allow a noose to be looped around the base. The Major moved her face closer so she could fill her gaze with Kirsten’s features and with a sudden wrench hauled the knot inward. The rope seemed to bore into her skin, squeezing inward and making her chest light up with strangled pangs.

  The noose tightened again and Kirsten’s eyes rolled back as she gasped under the lasso. The excess was pulled tight and then wound outward in a spiralling motion towards the mashed nipple before returning back down to affix itself to the base hoop, trapping the breast in an intricate mesh of rope. As she gasped and wheezed, the rest of her bust was abused in a similar fashion, mimicking the ensnaring attack until she almost felt like fainting from it.

  Moving out, the woman returned with a pair of powerfully sprung clamps, the silver implements catching the light upon their gleaming mechanisms. Kirsten stiffened, her breasts were already thumping with a terrible anguish, one that was sure to make the effects of the clamps infinitely more distressing.

  After snapping the tiny jaws before Kirsten’s tear-filled gaze she clipped them to the very tips of her wrung cleavage, placing a final refulgent tip to the disciplined orbs.

  Spasming uncontrollably, Kirsten tried to somehow throw off the foul webs, her efforts impossible but still clung to as a valiant last hope. The movement served a less welcome purpose and made the weight of them tug at their captive morsels, increasing the effects of their vile grip.

  Kirsten grabbed hold of her loathing, turning it, reminding herself of the times she had dreamed of this being done to her in order to spice her own relief. She had to create that same mindset, to think of this as a pleasure, as something she needed, placed on her by her owner. The pain did not decrease but now she could find less sorrow in it and a satisfaction in her humbling, in losing herself to her torment.

  The mere touch of a button had the struts that were holding her legs rising up, the articulated sections lifting the limbs until they were held straight, presenting the soles of her feet for confined targeting. The change in position had the massive length still spearing her rectum shift evilly, making itself noticeable despite the competition with her garrotted breasts.

  With despair in her heart, Kirsten watched impotently as the officer replaced the cane and selected a scathing paddle, the broad surfaces coated in dense rows of tiny studs.

  “First, let’s warm up those soles and get them ready for a real beating, slave,” muttered the woman, slashing the weapon through the air so that its dull distemperate murmur filled her ears, feeding her soul with malaise.

  The woman was going to push her to her limits, to take her beyond them, to show Kirsten her strength and resolve and leave no question that anything she said she would do she would have no compunction or regret about instigating.

  Wringing the grip in both hands the officer drew back and took aim and with a full swing delivered the wide panel into the hapless flesh. A thousand mosquito bites joined the smack of its stinging oscillations and blast waves of heat pranced through her feet, rolling up her legs as she howled, the tender flesh responding to the paddle with incredible hatred.

  Blow after blow was swung into the tissues, driving Kirsten mad with grief as the attack continued, the officer applying her full force to the swipes until the only feeling left in the bullied extremities was the infernal fires of pain that had been kindled.

  “That was quite some workout,” huffed the officer as she ceased and stepped back, lifting her cap and wiping a few beads of sweat from her brow before replacing it and straightening it to her taste.

  Whimpering through her nose, hauling in what breath she could, Kirsten strove to regulate her intake and quell her hyperventilation. She could not believe how cruel the woman was, and how besotted she herself was with this malicious treatment and the person responsible. The woman had shown her such pleasure the other night and now she was showing her pain such as she had never imagined. It was impossible to endure and she doubted she could take this on a permanent basis, but for now, every deed, every sadistic act confirmed the woman as a sterling dominatrix that tolerated no dissent to her rule.

  The Major took her fomenting paddle back and hung it upon the awaiting hook. In its place she removed a wiry crop, the long thin rod tipped with a leather hoop.

  Kirsten sobbed when she saw it, grumbling her words through the gag, fighting the straps, her breasts thumping with sensation as the clamps danced on her nipples.

  “Are we ready, slave? Ready to be trained?” She questioned sternly. “If you are good and you do as you’re told, perhaps we can avoid such lessons in the future. And if you’re really good, maybe you can earn a reward or two for yourself. You’ll find I can be quite generous, but also…highly sadistic,” she snarled, flexing the crop in her leather fists as a smirk stretched the corners of her lips.

  With a vast slash the weapon was carried into Kirsten’s feet, the paddle having prepared the skin and heightened its sensitivity to make the crop’s affections all the more mordant.

  The shriek
of unprecedented agony that rocketed from her throat emerged around the gag and reverberated in her mind as her will dissolved into a scrambled throbbing mass.

  Delirious with harrowing, she felt her sanity eroding under the horrendous blows, time dragging out to an eternity as she was abused, the dozens of strikes taking forever to administer. Each one was utterly beyond her scope to endure, and she prayed with all her heart that it be the last and always another followed until she thought she was going to be whipped to death, for surely her body could not handle such pain, yet endure it did.

  When the final one came and no more followed it she was left virtually unconscious, her thoughts numb and distant like she was attached to her body by the vaguest of ethereal threads. Breaking into tears she lamented her paltry freedom, both cursing and welcoming the new fate she had been dealt.

  A cool hand brushed the damp strands of hair from her face and attracted her attention. Her eyes flitted open and through a wobbling haze she spied the officer leaning over her, unbuckling the gag.

  “Good slave, your mistress is proud of you for taking such discipline,” she said with comforting compassion.

  Kirsten’s eyes were wide at the sight of the female’s body moving against the leotard, the latex tight against her breasts, her nipples standing out against the material, roused by the erotic pleasure she took in training her slave. Suddenly it had all been worth it, this meagre compensation a wonderful reward.

  The baleful device came away with a moist sucking pop and her jaws found bliss in being able to operate unhindered once more.

  “Th…th…thank you, M…Mistress,” she muttered, her throat dry, her voice hoarse from screaming. She felt wonderful, she felt helpless, secure, almost loved. No intercourse had ever left her feeling this sated.