Trained to Obey 1

by Bruce McLachlan

  The level of excruciating mayhem was more than she thought she could stand. Her heart was thumping against her ribs, her pulse and demented muted bawling filled her brain, but there was more to come. Squeezing tighter, the speed of the drill increased to its manic gait and was driven back and forth with a saturnine grace to further spite her.

  The application of the scourge in whimsical flicks went virtually undetected, the mauling of her anus gathering all of her attention. Finally the foul tool was drawn out, the drill accelerated rapidly as it slipped free and was no longer hampered by her smothering rear. Kirsten slumped into a sombre wreck within her bonds, wheezing deeply, her body encased in a dripping sheen of perspiration, the weaving lines feeding on the pearls adorning her and falling from her suspended aching form. The clamps continued to tug at her, the leaping weights mindlessly continuing their affliction.

  “Wasn’t that nice, slave? I know I certainly enjoyed watching this tight butt suffer,” said the officer, sweeping the whip across Kirsten’s rear, tickling the flesh with the gentle passage of the long tentacles. “But we can’t let ourselves be side-tracked. We have to keep you completely loose and not just stick with this hungry little hole, especially when there’s another that yearns to be filled,” she mused.

  The melancholy sense that filled Kirsten as the tip touched her sex had her weeping in dejected apathy. She couldn’t believe another woman would do such a thing to her own gender. She may well be a mutant, but she was still human, she still had a mind, rights, dignity. She didn’t deserve this, it was unjust, it was evil. Why would this woman do this to her?

  With a heartless plunge she was rudely breached and her pudenda filled beyond capacity with the gargantuan device. The shock of this entry far eclipsed that wrought into her rear, the tissues being more sensitive and unable to accept such artificial molestation. Again the rod was pumped back and forth, grinding it into her without care or mercy as she howled, feeling as though a white-hot spear was being slammed into her belly, the sensation assuring her that she was being atrociously mutilated. Surely this level of pain could not be garnered without massive destruction.

  The initiation of the drill made every muscle in her body fly into rigid attention, the veins and tendons across her naked form riding up to push against the skin, standing prominently for scrutiny as she suffered this most horrendous of ravishments. Her sight was a pane of white and red flashes, all detail lost as her mind churned under the influx of sensation. Her heartbeat was erratic and wild, her lungs burning and shot with icy flutters. Her viscera seemed to boil and churn within her and as the drill was sent into devilish full speed.

  Without warning her vision clouded over with darkness and she fell into a faint, her body and mind switching off, her system no longer able or willing to tolerate this monstrous maltreatment.

  Chapter Eight

  Dusk was swiftly approaching, suiting Maria’s needs all the more for her escape back into the wilderness, but threatening her with the closure of the shop. Stuffing a few choice items into her jacket she checked the street once more. The pedestrian flows were thinning rapidly and the rush hour traffic was starting to dwindle to a mere trickle.

  It was time to make a move. Readying herself for the forthcoming mission of flight she made for the back door and the stairwell that would carry her from this temporary refuge.

  The rear exit honed into view as she followed the corridor out and suddenly there was the distant rattle of tumblers as a key entered the lock. She froze in shock, wondering what to do, her pulse accelerating as she jerked her gaze wildly around, seeking an alternative escape route.

  In her moments of indecision the door opened, revealing a middle aged man with short blonde hair. Dressed in a suit, his beleaguered frown melted and formed into a startled expression of shock.

  With a whirl she turned and ran for the living room door, intending to retrace her steps and flee from her original entry point. The sudden flurry of heavy pounding footfalls behind her told her that she was not being allowed to take flight unopposed.

  Grabbing the handle she saw in her periphery vision that the man had gained too much ground on her and that if she continued with this choice he would be upon her before she made it halfway to the window.

  Spinning, she threw a hand into her jacket and went for her gun, hauling the pistol free in a single fluid motion. Hampered by fright she was acting far too slow and clumsily to be effective and the intruder launched forward and slammed his shoulder past the outstretched weapon and into her chest. The collision threw her back against the entrance to the kitchen with such force that she broke the hinges and lock to have the door spring loose and drop with her concussed form. The wooden portal fell with a loud booming tone and she rolled onwards from the barging attack, sprawling across the tiles and into the refuse of her scavenging.

  Gasping for breath, straining against bruised ribs, her flickering sight tried to locate her pistol because her violent passage through the breach had lost it. The metallic click of a hammer being drawn back alerted her to where the firearm had gone and she instantly remained still, frozen with dread as the man stepped into the doorframe, the muzzle trained directly upon her.

  “A burglar eh? Well, I…” he began and then paused in assessment of her visage and the stolen food. With a squint he released a grin and looked at the pistol for a moment before looking back at her with stern victory.

  “So, you must be the mutie they were asking about,” he declared softly.

  “Don’t turn me in, please,” she uttered, terrified that if she was condemned to the camps again, this time she would not get out. Her last escape had only been gained when the mutants were in full uprising and the resistance groups plagued the cities and camps. Now there were hardly any left and those that were at large remained in deep cover, trying to hide rather than fight.

  “I may, I may not,” he revealed with a wicked smile, causing added terror to gather in her mind.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Get up,” he abruptly commanded.

  Maria remained still, wondering what grim motivations were behind this man’s intended capture. Was he simply playing with her before he called in the Stalkers or did he have a darker intent in mind?

  “I said up,” he repeated impatiently and moved closer with the gun.

  Obediently she rose, her body responding without any real vigour, the fall having distanced her flesh from the demands of her will.

  “Hands on your head and turn around.”

  The familiar orders of a search and surrender were not unknown to her and so she played along with the recurring sensation, letting him close in and press the barrel to the back of her neck as he padded her down and removed her jacket. A drawer was tugged open and a length of cord taken out, the thin plastic wire being employed to affix her wrists together behind her back.

  “Move,” he spat, and after hauling other objects from the same drawer he forced her onward and to another chamber, pushing open the door to reveal a spacious bedroom. Suddenly gaining insight into his motives she tried to fling herself aside and flee but a stern clasp to her bicep anchored her spin and threw her in a full circle, carrying her around and then casting her onto the bed.

  Landing face down upon the mattress she bounced to a halt and then unleashed a croaking cry as he dropped onto her back, sitting astride her spine and crushing her pinned arms with his weight. Snapping open her mouth to cry out, rough fingers suddenly began forcing cloth into her maw, cramming it mercilessly in until her jaws could not close and as he continued to fill her mouth, the rictus was opened wider and enforced with the flow of cloth. A strip of potent tape sealed the orifice, snatching her lips and holding tight, gagging her.

  More of the cord was applied, taking hold of her snagged wrists and hauling painfully up until the length was affixed to the top of the bed, the elevation forcing her front deep into the mattress.

  Wailing into the smothering material she bucked beneath her captor, her
arms aching from their cruel contortion. Through her flitting gaze she saw him set aside the pistol upon the bedside table and from the draw he removed a short knife. The mere sight of the blade paralysed her, the mortal fear ending her resistance. She remained motionless with fright as she listened intently, the unseen blade hovering over her back. Then she started to feel the awful sensation of her clothes parting upon a keen edge, the slice of fabrics filling her ears.

  Lost in misery she flinched with each touch, her captor slowly peeling away her layers of clothing until he had shifted down to sit upon her ankles. Thin rope was knotted to each bedpost, the twine reaching up to snag an ankle and draw her legs apart into a lewd split, exposing her totally and drawing tight so that she was racked between her twisted arms and her parted legs.

  Naked before him, she quivered as he brushed aside the slashed attire, revealing her form to his prurient gaze.

  “Wow. You’re even more delicious than I thought,” he uttered.

  The sound of him undressing had her fighting against her bonds, frantic to get free as the threat of ravishment loomed. The pull at her arms made the joints flare with heat, her kicking legs dragging her against the bonds. The gag was solid and could not be moved and her imploring wails could only seep through as low, moans.

  The mattress dipped in between her legs as he moved onto the covers. His hands closed on her rear, kneading the flesh before running down her thighs, savouring her helplessness and her curves. Reaching up her traced the sides of her torso and then her twisted arms.

  “I’ve never had a mutant before, this promises to be interesting,” he muttered, his naked form lowering onto her back, driving her insane with desperation. Clenching with all her might Maria sought to deny ingress.

  “Now that’s not very accommodating is it? I would’ve thought a little mutant refugee like yourself would be more obedient than this,” he chuckled and took firm reign on her rear to drag apart with more force than she could resist, the sudden defeat making her squeak with the pain of such barbarous mistreatment. No sooner had he breached this defence than her rear was torn apart upon a virulent thrust of lubricated flesh, the man ramming into her with a callous stab that made her shriek from the pain of this monstrous violation. Pulling against her restraints she groaned with choler as he rode gently into her, satisfying his desire at a casual pace, unhurried and unperturbed by her duress.

  Frantic to end this ordeal she dropped her shielding powers, hoping that she be detected and dragged from beneath this molestation..

  With a quivering series of rapid pounding jolts she felt him fleck her insides, the sensation making her screw her face up in disgust and let out a pitiful keening howl. The feel of him sliding free added to the nausea and left her weeping and loose within her bondage.

  “You look like you want to be set free and handed over,” he stated, bringing soft nods from Maria and a laugh from her captor. “You think I’m going to just hand you over to the KGP for internment? Not likely! I’m going to keep you as my own little pet. What a waste of material to sentence you mutants to life imprisonment when you could be used as servants to those better than you. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll make you my maid, train you to be appreciative and obedient. It’ll be better than the camps, so you should be grateful to me for saving you,” he chuckled as she lay in apathetic despair, the semen injected into her rear slowly trickling out.

  “Well? Are you grateful?” he scowled and hauled his belt from his trousers with a violent yank before doubling it over and swiping the leather strip across her rear. The folded strip cracked loudly and a flash of shock ripped across the soft flesh, making it ripple under the harsh kiss.

  “Well, are you?” He questioned again and brought the improvised weapon back to repeat the blow, wringing a throe from his captive as she screamed into her gag, burying her face into the pillow as she screwed up her features and attempted to outlast the stinging pain.

  A tight fist took hold of her hair and drew back, lifting her face up and exposing her countenance. His fingers picked up a flap of the tape and a harsh tug tore it from her lips. Flicking her crushed tongue into animation she forced the wedge of cloth out, spitting it free and licking her dry lips as her scalp pulsated with a dull ardour.

  “Tell me you are grateful,” he decreed, letting go of her head and throwing another hack into her buttocks, letting her startled croak air in full as her features dropped back into the pillow.

  “I’m grateful, I’m grateful you mundane bastard!” She burbled hysterically, willing to say anything to stop this attack. Even in the camps she had never been maltreated thus and she had no tolerance to resist it.

  “Good. Now, let’s see about getting you prepared for your new lot,” he announced.

  Lifting himself from the bed he left her trapped, knowing that the threat of the Sanctuary camps, starvation and being worked to death was a far graver sentence than the one he had proffered, the tentative promise ensuring her silence. In the periods where she might decide that she would prefer such incarceration such as when he was punishing or making use of her, then she was sure to make heated sound and thus he would gag her. Until such times he was free to leave her mouth open for use, her fear of the camps causing a begrudging acquiescence to his rule.

  Looking across the sweet form tied down before him he pondered how life had certainly dealt him a golden hand when it sent this girl into his abode to seek refuge. She was a glorious sight and as his captive he could freely release all his dark desires. Whimsical dalliances with commissioned whores and fleeting parades with those who flaunted such submission were gone, their simpering lust and revelry in his abuses as nothing when compared with the genuine resistance and fear of this prisoner. Having a partner who relished her degradation was insipid fare at best, but this adolescent was far more succulent a meal, her revulsion and resistance were genuine and the mere thought of breaking her in like some recalcitrant filly was one that sent warm shudders through his body. Already he was growing stiff at the mere thought, but decided to stretch out his arousal, take his pleasure in her in other ways.

  Chapter Nine

  Stirring from her swoon, Kirsten found that the restraints had been removed and that she was sprawled upon the ground in an entirely different chamber. The centre of the barren room had an indentation that supported and cradled a large spherical ball of translucent plastic. Puzzled, she tried to move and suddenly grimaced as flares of aching heat suddenly drenched her flesh. Her fight against her bonds had pulled just about every muscle she had and even the most subtle movement of her brutalised abdomen brought a level of retribution into her nervous system that rivalled the intensity of the ordeal. The recollection of the session had tears welling in her eyes and running down her face, the fact that the officer could be so insanely cruel, that this level of torture was sure to continue, and that against such atrocities there was no way she could hope to retain any shred of her identity. This was not behavioural modification to serve the KGP, it was the utter annihilation of her own mind and the replacing of it with another, this second sentience carved from suffering.

  Laying back down she curled up slowly, careful not to irk her many wounds as she lost herself in morose self pity. Her stomach growled softly and her gag-distended mouth was parched, her lips dry and cracked, her throat hoarse from screaming, but nothing had been set out for her. She craved food with tempestuous passion, her body seeking anything to distract itself from the residual trauma. Was starvation part of her re-education? Would she be kept on the very edge of hunger and thirst to help break her? Pawing at the gag she traced its locks once more, hoping she had missed something that could help her get the infernal implement off of her. The device was driving her mad. Her jaws were throbbing terribly and the perpetual yawn was filling her face with stretched pains. Tugging at it with enfeebled vigour the instrument of her silence remained firm and failed to even shift, leaving her doomed to its perpetual company.

  Lying back upon the floor, Kirs
ten closed her eyes, the image of the officer plaguing her thoughts. She wanted to stay furious at her jailer but her own deviance and the indoctrination had already made significant changes to her opinions. As she lay thinking about the brutal woman standing over her, controlling her, making her suffer, Kirsten’s hand absently started to wander down her front, settling between her legs and etching small delicate swirls on her sex. As the washes of pleasure started to seep through her, her motions grew more distinct and the soft squelch of moisture joined her delicate panting breath. She dredged up the memory of the drill, the clamps, using the swollen presence in her mouth to augment the dreams. She dwelt on her silence, the massive toy swelling her jaws, depriving her of speech, leaving her a supplicant to the whim of her owner.

  The door answered with a soft click and then drew smoothly aside with a low hum to expose the Major, making Kirsten jolt to a different pose and close her leg before her onanism was detected.

  Kirsten did not even know her torturer’s name. It was not printed on her badge and she had never heard it spoken. It was hard to credit that this woman was human at all, her contentment at making others suffer to such unearthly degrees surely beyond the realms of mortal emotion.

  The woman had changed into a less formal attire and had swapped her combat trousers for form hugging latex leggings that emphasised the curvaceous shape of her limbs. The sturdy boots had been shed in favour of knee high riding boots, the leather polished to a sheen almost as reflective as the burnished rubber. Instead of her leotard a black latex bra remained and cupped her assets, forging a mouth-watering cleavage, the fetishistic undergarment worn with nothing else save her leather gloves in which she bore a neatly folded pile of latex. A viciously spiked collar encircled her throat, the long steel teeth dissuading any contact.