Trained to Obey 1

by Bruce McLachlan

  The Mistress strode away, leaving Kirsten to stretch her arms, swimming in the excellent feeling of being able to move unhindered once more. However, when she turned about she saw the Mistress tightening a plexus of leather straps about her girth, the strips holding an oversized, bulging phallus at her belly, the toy erect and ready to defile the helpless servile.

  With a startled expression Kirsten froze in confusion, her course of action unclear. Her instincts were for flight, but her subconscious was telling her to stay and not disregard the laws of compliance the Mistress had set down. The first time this woman had used such a toy on her it had been a willing exchange, more so for the fact that Kirsten was in charge, her payment to the ‘whore’ giving her ultimate authority. How different the situation was this time.

  “Recognise this, slave? It’s much bigger than the first one, but a little reunion might help remind you that you are mine,” she commented, running her hand along her artificial manhood as though she were trying to keep it erect with a teasing fondle.

  In her gloved hands the woman gathered a mesh of leather, the purpose of the bizarre tangle unknown to her. With a brisk shake she opened the tentacles and leaned down to apply them. Flipping the unresisting Kirsten onto her back she encircled her waist with a wide belt that was tightened to a fierce clinch. Two cuffs at the sides snared her wrists, keeping her hands trapped at her hips. A pair of long strands reached down from her sides, the adjustable stirrups ready to accept the officer’s heeled boots. Kneeling before the trembling slave the Mistress reached up beneath Kirsten and closed fists into the damp hair and tugged, causing her spine to arch as her head was towed and her neck craned painfully back.

  The woman stared down into Kirsten’s eyes, keeping her gaze locked to that of her wild and angst-riddled subject, intending to savour every subtle nuance of her suffering and bemusement.

  The tip of the dildo began to jab at her sex, seeking entry like some wayward serpent in need of accommodation. As the point of entry was located the woman began to slowly ease forward, studying as Kirsten tried to deny ingress with a fierce contraction, the slow, relentless penetration forcing open her barriers and drawing out her defeat.

  “That’s it, slave. Fight all you want, you can’t resist me. Whatever I want to do will be done, whatever I want you to become, you will become. If I want to make use of your body, I can, you can’t stop me. I own you,” purred the woman, her breath racing as she licked her lips, her intense enjoyment of this act obvious.

  The rod slid slowly deeper and her lips reached the root of the weapon, the Mistress drawing out the full measure of Kirsten’s defeat, emphasising her rule through penetration. Once inserted all the way she began to slowly rock it back and forth, using the stirrups to keep reign on Kirsten, kicking back with each thrust to increase the depth of the stabs and make sure Kirsten could not escape the lethargic desecration.

  The heat of friction accompanied the fires as her scalp was tugged, the Mistress glowering down at her through bared teeth, her lips furled back upon a snarl of delight. To deny Kirsten any semblance of pleasure she alternated between her rear and her pudenda, starving her of orgasm. Meanwhile, a slight degree of caress from the movement of the dildo teased the officer, the fabric of her tights letting the base of the phallus rub against her sex, granting her a covert rapture that would only grant climax through prolonged stimulation.

  Continuing to ride her slave the officer maintained her quest for this goal. She pummelled Kirsten’s pudenda until she was starting to near orgasm and then changed to her rear, thrusting the dildo into her rear until she had calmed enough to permit the plundering of her womb without the hope of immediate orgasm.

  Kirsten panted and gasped, sorely tempted to beg for release, to grovel and offer anything if the Mistress would just let her come. But she knew if she broke the cardinal rule of silence she would have to wait even longer, perhaps be denied for good, so she held her tongue and patience and prayed.

  Only after an eternity of steady violation to both orifices did the woman’s twitches and panting breath betray her acquisition of fulfilment, her hands pulling back even more drastically to have Kirsten yell out in suffering. Riding upon this glee for long minutes she finally drew free and lifted herself back onto her feet, unfastening the device with trembling fingers and then setting Kirsten free of her bonds.

  “There, that feels better doesn’t it, slave. I know I do,” she crooned, knowing that she had only added new fuel to the bonfire of Kirsten’s lascivious state. Now how about a game? I want to play with my pet, and if she’s good, she’ll get what she wants,” she announced with joviality.

  A section of wall opened to grant the officer a strenuous corset, the leather garment shaped drastically to haul a figure into an absurd hourglass. Standing Kirsten up without word, the woman made Kirsten step into the loose sheath before she hauled it up and straightened it.

  After being lowered to the floor face down a foot stepped onto Kirsten’s back and the laces began to draw inward, closing the jaws of the voracious corset until it was squeezing against her flesh. The impediment to her breath rose as it clutched ever tighter to her ribs, compressing her more ferociously as the officer stole away inch after inch. Clawing at the ground Kirsten wheezed and twitched, the potency of this garment readying to crush her ribcage with its ferocity and only once it had attained an unbearable peak did it stop and seal her in with the looping of the laces about her middle.

  A studded collar was added to her neck and a thin chain was looped upon a ring in the wall and the link of both ends padlocked to the collar, confining her to one corner of the chamber. A set of stockings were offered as her only other attire and Kirsten eased her legs into them, savouring the soft gentle glide of the fine denier fabric across her skin.

  The officer opened an alcove and removed what appeared to be a tranquilliser gun and a box of darts. Leaning back against the wall she popped a dart into the breach and cocked the weapon before levelling it at Kirsten.

  With fright suddenly washing through her she backed warily up, the sight of the muzzle aimed at her filling her with jeopardy. Her back bumped against the wall and she began to slip down, terrified, her pulse quickening.

  “Masturbate,” curtly demanded the woman, flinging a vibrator across the floor. The small white rod bounced and then skidded until it struck the wall next to her.

  Tentative fingers snaked out and closed hesitantly about the solid plastic toy. Slowly hauling her frame back up Kirsten strained for fresh breath against the confines of the corset, aghast at the command and hesitant at the prospect of making a public display of herself performing such an act.

  The delay resulted in a compressed cough from the pistol and a dart sank into her thigh, the tiny needlepoint bringing a sharp stab of pain and then a searing jolt of fire that swept through her every cell as a voltage burst ripped through her system. With a shriek of agony she dropped heavily to the floor, prevented from fleeing by the leash to her collar, the electrical shock leaving her dazed and trembling, her body resounding with the aftermath of the attack.

  “I said masturbate,” she demanded, reloading the weapon and taking fresh aim, the darts proving to hold a high capacity battery rather than a sedative, the projectile spitting energy rather than a chemical into the victim’s anatomy.

  With her senses returning slowly Kirsten spied the vibrator where she had dropped it and reached out to pick up the forsaken tool. Another soft wheeze of gases preceded a puncture to her bicep and she was lifted from the cold metal ground as a huge spasm ripped through her frame, the intense shock as brief as it was agonising.

  Rolling onto her side, her teeth chattering as the shock of her pains continued to gather, she steered her body onward, crawling towards the vibrator that had sprung from her grasp once more. A hot sweat had arisen across her skin, the product of the voltage cascade and her limbs were lax in their response to her demands.

  Trembling fingers closed about the plastic shaft and
drew it down as the dull click of the pistol being readied filled her with dread.

  Lowering the device between her legs Kirsten began to comply with the iniquitous demand, any sense of pleasure lost as she was humbled by this demeaning exposure.

  “Turn it on!” Came a terse order amidst a soft hiss and the light jab of an injected prong into her shin.

  Arching her back, her mouth snapped open to unleash a howl of anguish, the eruption of sound duplicating an eruption of lightning torment through her body.

  Collapsing, she coughed and swallowed, her eyesight blearing as she fought to bring herself back to animation. Loose fingers fumbled at the base of the device, seeking the switch she had been ordered to flick. With a surprising amount of effort she set the toy into buzzing life and returned to her onanistic task, her heart being torn by derogation as she performed before the gaze of this woman. But as the device shuddered upon her starved clit she started to melt into the task. Quivering on the floor, squirming with rhapsody, she fixed her stare to the latex contours of her owner, aching to lick and touch them as her orgasm slowly started to flower through her body. Panting, her ribs fighting the corset, she tightened her body, fighting to continue, the sheer intensity of release magnified countless times by her constant denial.

  Squealing in ecstasy she jerked and danced on the floor, filling herself with joy before dropping into a slack heap.

  “What do you say, slave?” Sternly advised the officer.

  “Th…thank you, Mistress. Thank you for letting your slave come,” she hoarsely sobbed, floating in the wake of one of the most delightful climaxes she had ever had the fortune to apply.

  “Now polish me, slave” she ordered, removing a can of spray and a cloth before wandering over into Kirsten’s restricted area of motion.

  Employing a nervous hand Kirsten reached down and took hold of the tiny darts. With a sudden gasp she yanked one out and cast it aside before turning her attention to the others. After tugging each one from her body she crawled over to the nearby Mistress and accepted the proffered cloth.

  Spraying the fabric, Kirsten began to gently rub the material, her single descent forging a glittering sheen. Starting at the officer’s shins she began to work upward, the Mistress standing like a statue, hands on hips and glaring down at her as she attended the task with a reverent awe.

  Rising upward she began to acquire greater trepidation with regard to attending her any higher, and as she caressed the latex thighs, the firm flesh held within the tight shell she swallowed her hesitation and began to shine the rounded buttocks and belly of the tights. The Mistress closed her eyes in delight at the feel of the slave humbly wiping the cloth across her abdomen, piquing Kirsten’s enjoyment in the devoted toil.

  Once every portion of the tights was raised to a perfect finish the Mistress snatched the cloth out of Kirsten’s grasp and moved back to admire the workmanship.

  “Well done. Not a bad job at all.”

  A fond pat on her head preceded the removal of a can from the walls, the thick paste within being spooned into a bowl and presented for her starved devouring. Before Kirsten could feed, the officer drew her arms behind her back and tied elbows and wrists together into a tight stem, denying her use of her arms. Without care as to the manner in which she was behaving Kirsten began to wolf down the food, sating her hunger as the Mistress opened a small hatch, the aperture revealing a small, low ceilinged chamber.

  “In you go,” she stated, indicating with a wave of her hand as Kirsten looked up from her empty dish. “But first, kiss my boots to show your thanks.”

  Licking the last morsels of meat from her lips she straightened with difficulty, the corset biting in with terrible might as she crawled over on her knees, dropping back down so she might place a single kiss to each of the Mistress’ boots before obediently shuffling into the small cell.

  The door hissed shut and locked with a peel of clicks, sealing her in. Surrendered to the inky blackness she knew there was nothing to discover in the cramped interior so with sleep washing up from kinship with the darkness she laid out and stretched her body, letting herself plummet recklessly into deep sleep as the food she had ingested tried to negotiate the compressed paths of her stomach.

  Chapter Nineteen

  An enthusiastic gust pushed her hair over her eyes, forcing Sarah to look away and clear her vision. Holding back the wild strands she looked over the row of shops once more, their festering backs utterly different to their preened and welcoming front visages. The neglect gave the area a seedy quality, making her fear for what might be occurring within the decrepit faced flats.

  The group had discovered that Maria had been detected and chased but the Stalkers were forced to conclude that she had eluded them after a long and fruitless search. Turning to possible hiding places the group had followed sightings and general information to this area. Able to move amongst the people by day Sarah had used her extra sensory abilities to dredge within the subconscious minds of various locals, covertly scouring into their engrams and examining them. By looking through their eyes at the events of previous times she could look purposefully into the periphery zones, areas that the viewer had not troubled themselves with by the granting of attention but which she was fully able to scrutinise.

  A commuter had spotted her ducking into this backstreet and a woman hanging up her washing had ignorantly caught the image of Maria’s feet disappearing into a window from the corner of her eye.

  Was she still inside? The possibility that she had killed the occupants to preserve her security was remote. Maria did not have the temperament for murder. Even bigoted KGP were only slain in absolute self-defence. So why would she still be present within this flat? Turning away, she moved for a house that looked onto the backs of the shops, keeping her eye trained for Stalkers and readying her mental powers to baffle and beguile the occupants into letting her in as though she were nothing more threatening than a beloved relative. With the denizens bewildered she could watch from afar and see what was going on before breaking in to determine the truth for herself. Study would discover if it were a trap and if not she could easily use her powers to barge an entry and recover Maria if she were present.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jessica meditated on whether the rest of the country would respond as she did to her dominating role, for the authorities were already drafting a possible law to strip every mutant of rights, reducing those not deemed a threat to society as little more than slaves. The populace had been indoctrinated to such a degree that they would readily see the use of non-dangerous mutants as chattel, but she also wondered how they would react once it came to light that around ninety percent of the populous had enough genetic anomalies to place them in this caste. They might not have abnormal visage or attributes but they would still bear enough defects to be classed as ‘impure’, and once the regime was established, it would be too late for the enslaved to do anything to escape their fates. The need for every species to keep a fluctuating gene pool to assist evolution was the key, causing almost all save a rare few to bear the occasional hiccup of DNA, and these few were almost always exclusively female. The imminent mass scale of the subjugation only made such a prospect all the sweeter.

  But her prime dilemma was whether her slave was ready to receive the suit? Rather than risk imprisoning her early, she decided to run a final test.

  Touching the wall, the cell door slid aside, letting the dull light seep into the small prison of her slave. The influx that banished the night stirred the prisoner, causing her to lift her head and open heavy eyelids to regard her oppressor.

  “Out,” she demanded, making the near naked form arise and slither out, swaying slightly from the dizziness of her rude awakening.

  Once out of the low prison, the door shut in Kirsten’s wake and she was led out into the heart of the room.

  Taking hold of the laces, Jessica began to untie the bonds of the corset, setting the stringent apparel free and causing the girl to groan as her
body bemoaned the sudden loss of that which had cradled it, her flesh having grown used to the crushing scaffold.

  Jessica stepped back and issued her first order.

  “Masturbate,” she uttered.

  The girl obeyed without pause, looking up and dancing her fingers upon her sex until she was shuddering under self-induced orgasms. She was a gorgeous sight, her athletic form jerking as she gasped and sobbed with pleasure, her breasts bouncing with her cavorting reactions. Jessica could feel her libido rising as she considered making carnal use of the delicious physique grovelling before her. But she had duty to handle first.

  Slaves were at their most resistant when sated, the corked libido being a prime force in ensuring successful control. Comprehensive instalment of chastity devices on all slaves was a notion being developed by some of Kessler’s labs.

  As the slave continued to attend herself, Jessica marched to the wall and removed a lengthy cane, the slender bamboo stick aching to inflict misery. Kirsten cried out and flapped upon the floor, riven with ecstasy as she finally released her pent up desires, her eyes locked to Jessica’s boots.

  “Stop. Now get up and bend over. I am going to beat you, and you are not to flinch or make a sound,” she ordered sternly.