After the initial spasm of suffering, Kirsten froze, holding her trembling body rigid as she tried to keep absolutely petrified.
“That’s better,” mumbled the officer and stepped off of the terrified slave to once more rummage amongst the paraphernalia upon the shelves. Returning with five sets of restraints Kirsten watched in helpless gloom as they were threaded onto her legs. The trammels were comprised of two hoops of thin wire joined together by a small metal box with a wing nut at the centre. Each of the figure of eight bonds were drawn up to attach to her thighs, above and below her knees, her shins, and her ankles.
Turning the screw at the centre the woman began to wither the loops, tightening the metal coils until they lightly gripped the prisoner’s flesh. Only then did she move in and begin to close them more ferociously, making the wires dig into the flesh, gnawing deep and making it rise on either side of the burrowing lengths. Kirsten battled within the straitjacket, the studs punishing her mercilessly for her attempts as she felt as though her legs were being dissected by the infernal wires.
Once they had been shrivelled to a tiny diameter that had her legs being robbed of all feeling by the strangling nooses, the Major removed a large iron weight and set it down beside her. Cords were affixed to the weighty ring at the top, and these were then tied to each of the nooses upon her legs.
Standing up and marching to the secretive cabinet she returned with two bowls, a jug of water and an open can of dog food.
“I shall set your dinner down by the exit. It is up to you to get to it, slave,” she chuckled, striding away with an arrogant supremacy that made Kirsten’s resentment flourish.
The anger melted into sullen gravity as the officer stepped out of the room onto the corridor and down the passage. A long voyage to the door might have been possible, but the exit she had mentioned was that which fled the entire complex. How was she supposed to access this with the anchor dragging at her heels? But she was hungry and thirsty enough to try, heedless of how long it took. To trek thus for a bowl of dog food was the most humiliating act yet.
Shuffling forward, she experimented with a means of movement, trying to find one that was less painful than the others. It was a vain search. No matter how she moved, any ground she gained was fraught with the stabbing spines and the drag of the squeaking metal weight which made the wires dig ever deeper, the burden making the flesh shudder and darken with the constricted blood flow. Panting, her body heating with the sweat of her exertions, the latex sheath of her torso keeping this slick pane pressed to her skin as the abrasive hair itched terribly Kirsten continued the long quest for the door. It seemed to take forever to reach it and exit the room, each centimetre gained with more pain than she thought possible to endure. Standing in the corridor was the Major, a crop hanging idle in her gloved hands, the weapon retrieved from one of the other chambers.
“Do you want some help?” She offered.
Kirsten opened her mouth to speak and suddenly checked her response, turning it into a frantic nod before she broke this most pressing of rules.
The officer answered with a wicked smirk and lifted the crop. Kirsten screwed up her eyes in despair, realising that she had just petitioned encouragement from the crop to get her to her goal, and without the gag she might be tempted to speak and inspire further punishment or even the removal of the food as a lesson in reticence. The officer strode forward, her graceful body squirming against her delectable attire, the crop wiggling in her fist as she fixed Kirsten with a ferocious stare.
The crop sung a soft murmuring tune against the air and lashed into her legs and rear, the strokes coming with metronome precision, the blows slowing her as she sought to recover from the biting sting and then found fresh enthusiasm for movement as the next blow prepared to strike.
Slithering down the corridor towards the awaiting bowls it seemed to take days before she finally reached the two awaiting dishes. When she reached the cool waters and pile of gelatinous chunks she was so exhausted by the journey that she simply put her face to them and devoured without reserve. Guzzling the repulsive fare without care, her humanity was in ribbons as the grotesque taste made her stomach turn over in nausea. A boot settled into her back, the woman employing her as a footstool while she fed.
As Kristen licked the last of the nuggets of meat free she received a mocking pat on the head from the officer.
“Good dog,” she crooned. “Now, back to the room.”
With a mournful sob she jerked under the first taste of the crop, slowly turning her frame around and beginning the return voyage with a sense of utmost misery. Fighting the urge to speak, she fervently remained silent until she was once more restored to the place of her departure, her belly turning over from the strain of such exertions after such a poorly lying meal.
The weight was unfastened and the hoops loosened to wring agonised cries from her as the loops let go and let circulation and feeling thunder back to glut her nerves and make the frayed senses shriek afresh.
Approaching the translucent sphere, the Major opened a hemisphere and lifted it away, exposing the interior and betraying what use this tiny orb was to be put to. The prospect of incarceration in this diminutive cell was terrifying, another lengthy ordeal being the last thing she needed. She had eaten poorly and the sleep deprivation was beginning to really make its claws felt, eroding her willpower, leaving her psyche open to reconfiguration.
“Get in, slave,” she ordered brusquely, stepping aside to allow entry.
With a sense of futility at denying this wish, Kirsten lifted herself to her knees with a strain of effort and with sluggish movements began to make for the sphere. Once upon the lip she lowered her aching torso within, the studs biting into her flesh as she flopped in and folded her legs on top of her chest. Tears gathered in her eyes, her face mournful now that the officer was being callous once more. The moment of tenderness had lifted her heart with hope, but to see the woman return to her vicious ways had dashed them.
The officer looked at the sobbing slave and seemed to ease her temperament a little. Reaching in she held Kirsten’s chin and paused before speaking.
“You did well, slave. I promised you a reward, didn’t I?” She asked.
Kirsten nodded weakly, afraid that it would be a trick and that some horrible imposition would join her in this minute prison.
The officer strode away and returned with a zip lock bag. Opening it she produced a cotton thong and tossed the bag aside.
“I put these on after you fled your house and kept them on right up until the last time you saw me in my uniform. I put them in here to keep them fresh because all those tortures, all that punishment I performed on you has made them strong with my scent. I think you deserve them as a treat,” she purred.
Kirsten twitched as they were forced over her face, the crotch being set across her nose, filling her world with the warm aroma of the officer’s intense arousal at training her slave. Drinking deeply of the smell in massive snorts, Kirsten happily watched as the officer lowered the lid with a phlegmatic ease and locked it shut. Kirsten was now sealed within a compressing coffin where she could not stretch or move in the slightest only drink the debauched scent of her owner, dreaming of worshipping her for real, taking the scent and taste directly from the source.
Straightening up, the Mistress looked over the trapped captive with a sense of satisfaction and turned to march from the room.
As the door slid shut the darkness remained unbroken for a few seconds and then the nightmare programme of indoctrination began afresh. The blinding lights poured through the shell and the sound slammed into her ears as the sphere began to turn, crazily tumbling in the indentation, guided by random wheels to tumble her in chaotic directions. The tiny daggers scratched at her as she was thrown around within the sarcophagus, the hairs cultivating irritating itches that demanded attention. Howling in her misery, the interior heated under her speeding breath, the haze of moisture upon the interior diffusing the lights, spreading the bea
ms across the shell.
Tumbling crazily she wept bitter tears of frustration, straining against her confines in a frantic attempt to break free. Her only compensation was the underwear, but she was soon growing accustomed to it, the perfume fading from her senses.
Why had she been cursed with being a mutant? She had no god to blame for she did not believe in any divine guiding force, such things having been burnt out of her as she suffered not for the sins she committed but merely for the arch felony of being different.
As with most, her latent changes had been activated by the onset of puberty, the radical washes of hormones stirring the corrupted strands of DNA into activity. A distant and withdrawn child, her isolationist nature had always drawn the hostility and aggression of others, as though they could somehow sense that she was fundamentally alien to their ranks. She had taken their onslaught without word or retaliation. The bitterness always welled within her but she never let it take control, loosing herself in the realms of books and fantasy, dreaming of escaping the banality and tedium of her allotted working class life.
The penetrating headaches that she had started to suffer from grew in frequency and got steadily stronger, and it was these migraines that had made her lash out when she was next being subjected to the bullying of her oppressors. A shove to get a girl off of her snapped ribs like twigs and fractured the girl’s skull when she struck a wall some twenty yards away. The deathly quiet that fell upon the schoolyard was accompanied by horrified stares. The elation she felt at having vanquished someone who had for so long persecuted her melted like wax before a flame as she became aware of the terrified glares of the children and the revulsion splayed across the features of the monitoring teachers. Suddenly Kirsten felt ashamed.
Bolting and running from the scene she took sanctuary at home as the girl was taken to hospital. When she finally had courage enough to return to school, she was given wide berth, the soft whispers of ‘mutant’ and ‘freak’ being issued under breaths as she passed, never being said openly to her face. The graffiti in the toilets and upon walls began to focus on her, depicting her as a monster, closely followed by slogans of anti-mutant propaganda.
The situation grew more and more intolerable, finally forcing her parents to move far from her home and restart in a new area where she hid her new powers vigilantly. Her entire adolescence was spent either in tears over the belligerent curses hurled at her from every quarter or in paranoid fright, hiding herself away, never opening up to anyone, depriving herself of all trace of normalcy to try and maintain the subterfuge.
Rolling within her cell, all hope of sleep was kept away from her, making her more vulnerable to the reprogramming. As she reached the portions where she was commanded to adore her owner she sniffed and licked at the underwear, the process working superbly on her already susceptible masochistic psyche. She was tired of being hounded, she just wanted to lose herself in the rule of the Mistress, to vanish from view and become a pet, an owned possession that could not be blamed or persecuted for something that was not even her fault.
Chapter Twelve
For several hours Maria had listened to sounds of him working and although she had tried everything possible to try and slip her bonds she had failed, her only accomplishment being to leave her wrists sore from the abrasive fight against the coils.
Lying confined upon the bed she had little else to occupy her other than to dwell on what the others might be doing. Surely by now she was being missed? They could even be starting to look for her. How would they locate her though? The group might be in great danger if they tried to find her, for they had no protection against the sensor sweeps. Her capture could well land the entire band in a Sanctuary camp. Such a possibility had her mind crippled with worry, that her friends and comrades might be doomed simply due to loyalty.
Maria was personally terrified of resisting her jailer simply because of the chance of him handing her over for imprisonment, but if she did not let her fate be known to her fellows they would search thoroughly and might be apprehended during such a quest.
The bedroom door swung gently open and he strolled in, unfastening the bonds at her ankles and applying them afresh to seal her knees together. The leash at her arms was removed from the bedpost and used as a means to drag her to her feet and then lead her in shuffling steps back to the living room. Maria was torn from the humiliation of being hobbled and led naked like a beast but she had little option other than vocal distress that would assuredly condemn her to far worse.
At least while she was trapped here she had a chance for escape once the man let his guard drop or grew complacent, whereas the camps were definitely not so prone to lapses of security. Resolving herself to cursory compliance she trailed behind him and was delivered to a ring that the man had screwed deep into the wall. The solid half hoop of metal readily accepted her wrists with an eager padlock and once she was on her knees it elevated her arms and held her there.
Confined, the man patted her head fondly and with a chuckle strode from the room, deserting her to a night of uncomfortable isolation and pondering what he had in store for her. She assumed she would be forced into the lot of a normal maid with household chores, cleaning, washing, preparing food, and waiting upon him. The prospect of sporadic molestation was a horrendous possibility but it was something that had to be weighed firmly against the horrors of a camp. However, it seemed credible that her captor had far more stringent duties in mind, his intentions grim and sadistic, hidden from her and plaguing her thoughts.
Wiggling she tried to rise, only to find that the height of the hoop stopped her from standing erect, stopping her at a slight stoop. It was a maddening position that made staying on her knees far more comfortable. Time began to trail on and she wished only to lay down and rest, but again her contorted arms would not let her lie down, the bonds stopping her just short of the floor. Cursing his restraints she tugged and strained at them, the vexing lack of any means in which to decrease her discomfort bringing tears to her eyes as her shoulders continued to throb with mayhem.
Chapter Thirteen
“She’s been gone too long. Something’s wrong,” growled Steven, brushing his ragged mane of hair from his face and peering into the campfire.
“Maybe she’s just been held up,” Sarah offered with a thin hope.
Steven looked up at the woman, her eyes glittering with refractions of the dancing fires, her lithe body huddled up and encased in massive layers of warm clothing. Sarah bore no visible external corruption, not the like the rest of them, but even so, the extra sensory powers that she had been born with condemned her to the same fate as the rest of them. Beside her sat Paul, the three-eyed balding giant semi-covered by his blanket, his eyes fixed down, his taciturn nature keeping him from the conversation as he listened intently. He was often mistaken for dull-witted and it was a cover he liked to leave in place so that nothing more than the most simplistic would be expected of him. But the man was intelligent, just quiet and very cautious. Considering the state of affairs in the country, who could blame him?
The fire gave an outraged hiss as the dregs from a cup were cast onto it. Gary jerked to his feet, his thin, diminutive body casting up his overlong arms as he regarded everyone, addressing them in a scolding tone.
“Don’t be fucking ridiculous. It’s clear she’s been caught. The Stalkers are probably beating the information out of her right now. We have to move, we—”
Anna leapt up from her place beside Steven, acting with a speed that reduced her to a mere blur. Six arms unfurled from within her sleeping bag as she cast it off and one set dove through the air and cracked upon Gary’s jaw, jerking his head aside and stripping him from his feet to fell the mutant with a heavy thud.
Remaining upon the ground he put his knuckles to his lips and examined them to find blood. The carpet of fallen twigs and leaves crunched as Anna took a step forward, her many arms clenching into fists as one jabbed a finger in his direction, her face scowling with rage.
“Shut your fucking mouth! I’m sick of your damned selfish shit, jellyboy. Now get up and I’ll tear that boneless chicken-shit carcass of yours into pieces and eat it” she hissed, every word dripping with inveterate bitterness.
“Screw you, octo bitch! I’m thinking of us all here!” He retorted, crawling back to gain a safe distance while Steven stepped between the two, putting his talon-fingered hand to Anna as she regarded him with menace.
“Cool it, Anna. We need to keep calm if we’re to find her. We’re all scared, and we’re all concerned, but freaking out won’t do any good,” he offered, trying to defuse the situation.
“Yeah, te—” began the supine mutant before Steven whirled and snapped at him with vigour, baring the wicked fangs that filled his jaws.
“Shut it! You’ve pushed it too far this time, Gary. Maria went into the city for supplies for us all. She risked herself for us and you give up on her without a second thought. You make me sick! Now get the hell out of my sight before I dice you myself.”
Knowing that he was in real danger of being attacked for his crass words Gary lifted himself up and stomped moodily into the darkness of the forest. Anna glared at him as he went, more than ready to kill him for his words. Maria had been like a surrogate daughter to the powerful mutant and everyone knew why. Having lost her own adolescent child to the vigilante groups that eventually formed into the KGP she had adopted the youth, protecting and raising her as her own. Gary’s thoughtless words had pressed home the possibility that a barbaric interrogation was truly happening and it was clearly driving her mad with grief and anxiety.
“I’m going in to find her,” she stated with conviction.
“Not alone you’re not. I’m going too,” mumbled Paul, looking up to her with clenched teeth as he rose to his full and impressive eight feet.
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