Trained to Obey 1

by Bruce McLachlan

Refastening his trousers he drew in a deep breath and looked across the maid sprawled beneath his feet.

  “Get up,” he demanded.

  Still phased by the violation she failed to comply, prompting him into taking up his weapon and skimming it to her bare hips. With a yelp into her smothering gag she flipped over and forced herself onto all fours.

  With a flick he extended the coils of rope and swiftly fastened it back around her hindquarters, creating bonds about her waist and down between her legs, putting several knots across the front to make it even more unbearable a partner.

  “Tidy your appearance,” he commanded.

  With a grimace of strain she rose up onto her knees, her body wobbling slightly as she drew down the tight folds of her dress, the apron emerging from the meshed wrinkles and restoring her facet as a maid. The slight ridge of the crotch rope was easily visible on the tight sheath, hidden from view.

  Looking up through the holes over her eyes she chewed upon the cloth and openly glared her contempt, safe in the knowledge that it would be lost within the shadows of her hoods.

  “Good girl, now take that brush and start cleaning the floor,” he ordered, denying her use of the vacuum and making her perform the laborious chore with a small dustpan and brush.

  Taking the tools she looked at them for a moment and then panned her gaze across the room. The delay brought a spiteful response and the crop sung upon the air before depositing a livid streak on her thigh.

  “Get moving, I want this done today!”

  With a sense of stewing anger and resentment she turned and moved to the wall, beginning her menial task and swearing vengeance on the villain with every brush stroke. As she crawled around the room, each movement made the rope chafe her loins, her body hot within the uniform, her jaws aching from having been kept apart, her various stark weals responding as her outfit pressed onto them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jessica closed her eyes and let her head loll back as the warm pelting jets of the shower bounced on her neck and breasts. Savouring the massaging drizzle she ran her hands down her form, adding to the sensual indulgence.

  The thought of Kirsten, held tight, being taught to adore her, the dildo keeping her horribly frustrated was arousing Jessica immensely. When she had been tugging at the bladders in her slave she had yearned to straddle the supine face and force the girl to pleasure her, but she had to try and keep herself from such temptations. She had a duty, she a responsibility, she couldn’t let herself be swayed by a pretty face, no matter how much she wished it.

  The training of mutants to aid in the hunting of their own was a chore few had the stomach for, but Jessica reveled in it. She gained almost spiritual fulfilment from breaking the very souls of her allotted subjects, in turning a civilised, resistant mind into a slathering adoring beast. The giddy heights their homage and devotion brought her to were more potent than any drug and she would never relinquish this posting for anything. Promotion offers had come and gone without acceptance for to take any higher position would carry her from the training ground and here she was happier than at any other time in her life.

  Now that Kirsten had sunk deeper into the programme and had responded well it was certain that she was not going to have to expel the girl and send her to a camp. She was glad that Kirsten had given in, she didn’t want to lose her.

  Jessica was now safe to twist the indoctrination to a more satisfying angle. It was time to totally shed her uniform and purpose and incorporate some real pleasure into this scenario.

  The Hedonistic pursuits in her training were justification aplenty for her, but the more rational psyche of her mind could just as readily approve her actions to those who did not share her love of domination. Even though all moral objection at the torture and abuse she so loved to mete out had fled with her conscience the occasional pang required a decent excuse to merit such atrocities and soothe the restless cadaver that was her pity. Of late she had forced herself more and more into reminding herself of her responsibility and the party doctrine. Kirsten was seducing her with her anguish, the alluring slave having charmed Jessica with their first encounter. She still wanted her as her slave and her pet, but she wanted to be more tender, to let herself love her slave and hope that adoration was reciprocated, even if she had to force it into Kirsten.

  She couldn’t fall for her. Mutants were dangerous. Time and time again they had proven that they were all to ready to use their unholy powers for the advancement of their own goals, regardless of law or the welfare of others. Removing them from civilisation kept them from further corrupting the gene pool and kept humanity safe from their deadly excesses. Incarcerating these beasts was near impossible, their eerie abilities able to baffle or break any cell, their chaotic elements making containment amongst normal prison populations a severe hazard. Of course, even imprisonment in the specialist Sanctuary camps was difficult and by no means able to permanently house them, thus the camps had to be brutal, to work them to the very brink of total mental and physical collapse, to keep them too weak to fight back or try and escape. If they should lack the constitution to endure the harsh regime, so much the better, for then Mother Nature had one less festering mistake blighting her face.

  Slamming her fist to the wall, Jessica tried to keep these thoughts in place, to brush the image of Kirsten from her mind and the temptation of that young hungry body. She had never been this torn before. Every slave had been shattered and rebuilt, letting her take pleasure solely in this reprogramming. But now she was having alien feelings for the girl, a fondness that had kept growing with every torture she inflicted. She had tried to be cruel, but her compassion kept slipping in. What was happening to her? Was she loosing her edge? Was she past her prime as a pitiless dominatrix? Maybe she should take some early retirement before her failings were discovered. Down here she was safe, the sole ruler of this domain, able to do as she wished, safe from prying eyes. But what if this deviation revealed itself in the world above? She’d be finished. She had to stay focused for her own sake and for Kirsten’s because if she failed to break the Kirsten then the girl would end up in a camp and despite her most fervent wishes to the contrary, Jessica couldn’t bear that thought.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The inculcation therapy of the lights and belittling words ended and the ball ceased its endless tumble, leaving Kirsten to settle into one position, the studs digging into this one side and remaining there, her skin chafed by the rub of abrasive hairs, her womb raw from the endless teasing ravishment.

  The lid opened and from her supine position Kirsten looked up to regard a radical and disturbing change in her trainer. The woman was adorned in latex, the fabric stretched across her body in taut panes of darkness. A jacket was buttoned shut about her torso her hands held within tight gloves, the fabric turning each digit into a dark phallic rod. Rubber tights flowed down below the hem of the jacket to enter laced ankle boots. Her fearsome cosmetic shades retained her saturnine countenance and a peaked cap of rubber left her eyes bathed in a soft shade.

  The officer reached in and removed her thong from Kirsten’s perspiration-soaked face, taking it away as Kirsten struggled to lift her legs, the dildo slowly emerging as the weary limbs battled to get it out. With a final hiss of strain the massive insert popped free and she straightened her aching legs, barely able to get her toes onto the lip of the bowl.

  “Are you ready to get out slave, or shall I leave you in here for longer?” She stated with bland tones.

  Kirsten gurgled and fought afresh to crawl out, her limbs finding renewed life at the prospect of a continuation of the solitary lessons in obedience. With a tremendous effort of her willpower she thrust her body into activity, her long neglected and stifled muscles sparking into life, defeating their lethargy and lifting up over the lip of the hemisphere. With a shriek of strain she clambered upwards and with a final supreme tax upon her every fibre she put enough of her weight on the other side to tip the precarious balance and carry her over. Sh
e landed with a loud clap, the impact virtually unnoticed by her punished flesh, the extra bite of the studs a mild distraction from her residual trauma.

  After removing the fetters responsible for bearing the dildo the Mistress tugged the crotch strap shut and took an ankle, drawing Kirsten away from the orb and deserting her upon the cold steel floor. As she lay upon her back, her arms folded across her chest, she stared blankly at the ceiling, her mind too numb to think, the words of the teachings rolling around in her skull, an eternal looped performance that constantly reinforced her ability to submit.

  The controls at the wall prompted action from above. The machinery beyond the metal plates of this Stigean domain cranked into activity, opening a small portal that spat forth a fat manacle and then a stout chain, the links manifesting from the darkness and lowering to hold the restraint above her. The cuff turned slowly in the light, the dark leather winking seductively.

  A soft click of stiletto heels paced across the chamber and stopped beside Kirsten. Turning her eyes she looked up across the towering woman’s black skinned, impermeable body and into eyes laden heavily with malice and lust.

  “Lick my boots, slave,” she purred.

  Without hesitation Kirsten hauled herself onto her flank and put her lips to the ankle boot before her, lapping at the material without any care for her own dignity. The fact that she was not perturbed by such submission was nowhere near as troubling as the dark satisfaction she was finding in grovelling before this woman, the feeling of being totally owned and controlled by a superior granting a soft haze of comfort.

  Coating the footwear in a thin layer of saliva she felt her left ankle being taken up by the woman, the creak of latex as the officer bent over being a lascivious noise to her ears. Her ankle entered the leather restraint and it was buckled tightly shut as she continued to slavishly adore the footwear, her sex growing damp with sexual need, her long frustration making her burn with prurient hunger.

  A plain strap grabbed the other ankle and bent it back to touch her rear before entwining the top of the same thigh.

  Without warning the boot fled from beneath her tongue and the woman returned to the wall where a bulbous tipped digit pressed a button, creating a sudden flurry of cranking tunes from above. The chain started a slow retreat, lifting Kirsten’s leg upward, a gradual rise that created a wrench at her hip as her abdomen was tugged into the air and the latex straitjacket issued squeaks as it skipped across the ground and was also borne aloft. Kirsten groaned as the hold made her leg well with internal flashes of pain, the tormenting of her joints and ligaments bringing her to the limit of her endurance. Her shoulders bore the remainder of her weight and then with a pendulum swing she entered the air to hang by her left ankle. Squirming in her bonds she gritted her teeth tightly and screwed her eyes shut in a bid to bolster her reserves of stamina, her folded right leg striving to break the belt ensnaring it so effectively.

  “You realise why I am doing this now, don’t you, slave?” Inquired the officer, sauntering back and slipping a gloved hand to Kirsten’s loins, massaging the latex strap and moving the slack inflatables back into her tracts. An inflator was applied and given a few squeezes to bring them to a more obvious size within her, but nothing like she had endured before. The officer began to shuffle the sheathed dildos with the hand that caressed the crotch strap and Kirsten squirmed from this teasing tickle.

  “Yes, Mistress,” she rasped, the tight balls rocking within her, distinct and succulent.

  “Then tell me, slave,” she asked softly, continuing the playful treatment.

  “Because I need to be taught to be obedient, Mistress,” Kirsten replied, the words branded deep into her soul.

  “And what are you?” Added the officer, hooking a thumb and finger under the strap, pulling at it and then letting the rubber force the escaping orbs back in.

  “Your slave, Mistress,” whimpered Kirsten, the feeling of such play making her ravenous for more decisive stimulation. She had never endured such sexual famine before. In her home she indulged whenever the inclination took her, now she had been offered release and deprived to such degrees that she felt as though her belly was going to ignite from the heat of its rabid thirst.

  “Excellent. And you want me to whip you, because you deserve it, because you need it,” suggested the officer.

  “Yes, Mistress,” Kirsten replied, unable to understand why she was agreeing with such words but believing them wholeheartedly.

  The officer smiled and returned to the wall to select a leather thonged cat. Combing her fingers through the strands she surveyed her captive, the mutant’s face flushed from her inverted confinement, a struggling pressure afflicting her head as she lay helpless before the looming attack.

  With a drastic swing the knotted tentacles etched into Kirsten’s stretched thigh, the thin cords striking the soft flesh without relent, painting the white skin with red weals that pounded with a deep throbbing pulse.

  Jolting and bouncing upon her joint Kirsten strove to break her bonds and escape, the application of the scourge too much for her to bear. Any wish to remain quiet or plead for mercy was lost to the tempestuous nature of the Mistress’ assault, the pain of the ordeal reserving her breath only for howls.

  The flogging ceased abruptly and the officer began to fondle the abused flesh, tracing her fingers along the routes of the welts she had deposited. Kirsten panted for breath, her stare fixed to the slender legs before her, the dim reflection of her own inverted face distorted and conjured within the fabric, the image twisting as the muscles below the impermeable surface flexed.

  Copious trickles of sweat ran from Kirsten’s chin as they slipped from beneath the sweltering folds of the straitjacket, the salty torrents making her close her eyes as they stung her vision before vanishing into the damp strands of her hair reaching out for the floor.

  Turning about, the officer wandered away, her departing image captivating the dangling prisoner. From a compartment came a clear box of small, yet harshly sprung clamps, the tiny jaws being opened to snag a pinch of her racked leg and compress it, the bite upon the already punished and well-tenderised skin elevating their mere crime of nuisance to a far greater felony.

  Stifling a choked cry Kirsten contemplated imploring for release, but feared the consequences of such an action too much. Thus she bore her abuse with grumbling moans, hissing through bared teeth as the startling pains settled to a more steady and deep ache.

  The strap traversing her crotch was unbuckled and drawn free, the sheathed bulbs sliding free of her raw orifices and being released to dangle and flap against her belly. Fingertips brushed her damp loins, making her shudder.

  “What a lustful slut you are, quivering at the slightest touch. Well I shall cool that heat of yours, slave.”

  A quick trip to the wall saw her return with a tray of ice cubes, the frozen squares releasing a faint cascade of wispy trails as she bore them to the suspended captive. Popping one of them free the officer drew the ice across the inner thighs, cursing the flesh with its arctic nip before cramming the nugget into her rear. The shot of cold that ran through her breached sphincter made her muscles clamp against the Mistress’ intruding fingers and Kirsten let out a shocked squeak. The frozen cube began its descend, spreading a chill freely though the warm flesh, making her tracts cramp up in sudden fits, twisting them and leaving her stomach curling and knotting as more of the baleful cubes were forcibly injected. Her frantically clenched rear was unable to deny the Mistress entry, the shock of their initial effects ebbing as the membranes were left insensible by the extreme cold.

  Grunting with the effort of weathering the insertions her resolve snapped as one of them was shoved into her sex, sliding in and instilling its numbing stab in her womb, the lingering finger denying her the chance of regurgitating it.

  “Mistress! Stop! I…”

  “Be silent unless I ask you a question!” Snapped the Mistress, suddenly ramming her digits further down and adding others, the bun
ched fingers wrenching open her womb and stretching it to a hellish degree. With a shriek of pain Kirsten jerked and spasmed on her bonds, the trespassing hand grinding deeper, forcing onward to make her suffer all the more for her crime.

  Twisting, the latex fist rotated and dragged the slick walls of her sex upon its fabrics, making her yowl from the atrocious maltreatment. A pivoting tug yanked the extremity free and brought a searing but welcome end to the chastisement. Reminded of the consequences of speech, Kirsten remained quiet as the process of application continued where it had left off.

  Seething with the rigours of taking this abuse without complaint she kept her mind focused on her taciturn goal and awaited the expenditure of the tray’s crystallised cargo.

  The fight to eject these internal enemies was useless, for the arrival of another kept the previous deeply immersed and once she was able to get them to the lip of her openings, they had melted into a slight spurt of soiled water. The last cube slid in and the crotch strap was hastily reapplied, plunging the dildos back into her tracts and preventing her from spitting out the baleful burden. Extra inflation made the bladders lean their might against her innards, stuffing her tracts and plugging up her orifices. Even so, the reservoir began to seep from her belly, the waters eventually trickling from around the inserted toys and running the length of her torso, weaving through the studs and feeding their passage with the slick layer of sweat the latex and her torment had coaxed from her skin.

  The removal of the pegs was as anticipated, the denied feeling washing back as a sudden stabbing peak that was bolstered by the extraction of the others until all were freed and her leg was allowed to let its pain dwindle.

  “You’re doing well, slave. Shaping up nicely into a good little pet. Maybe that deserves a little treat,” wondered the officer.

  With a shudder the chain began paying out its length, lowering her to the floor and into a slack mound. The Mistress set free the snared ankle and Kirsten breathed a secret sigh of profound relief as the bonds of her straitjacket were relinquished, the latex garment loosening its hold and then coming away, the material crackling as it stuck fondly to her hide. The sudden cooling influx of air as her darkness shrouded skin was exposed began to swiftly strip away the fevered perspiration. When Kirsten looked down across her body she found that the patterns of shallow bruised indentations gave her flesh an unnatural quality, making her skin seen as though it were not her own. Only her abnormal healing power had prevented severe damage from such containment, regenerating her skin almost as quickly as it was harmed.