Trained to Obey 1

by Bruce McLachlan

  Wailing in utmost disgust and mortified angst she breached her rear to gain better purchase on the stems and fought to haul them out. But any tug echoed throughout her stomach, a thousand cilia clasping to her innards and promising to tear her apart before allowing themselves to be dislodged. With a keening wail of despair she let herself go limp, this disfigurement and baleful treatment too much to cope with, the sheer purgatory of her defeat fully installed.

  She yearned to ease her despair, to pleasure herself in the hidden slime of her prison, but should she do that, she might let some of the liquid in and grow its cloying layer in her womb. Frustration was a heinous burden, she so longed to touch herself, her hands often drifting across her body, weighing up whether she should do it or not. The mental picture of her owner filled her every thought, the longing to be bound, to be trained, to be made to suffer and serve throbbing in her mind. It was over—she was broken. She was a slave.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The interior of the bag ran with rivulets of Maria’s moisture-saturated breath, her face slick beneath the hood, her hair damp and letting trickles run her spine. The nausea of her force-feeding was still evident but to a much lesser extent, leaving her to the chuckling rustle of the bag as it inflated and shrivelled with her breath, and her bound body languished impotently within the bonds of the chair.

  Fixing her mind to a single spot she pictured the buckle of the belt starting to open, the leather strip shuffling back, moving under her guidance. The simple lesson of telekinetic ability seemed easy when Sarah showed her, yet when she needed results more than anything she could not achieve the most minor response. Again and again she tried, applying fury and frustration until her mind ached. Then she followed a new path, calming herself, emptying her head to try again, all to no apparent effect. After hours of trying she finally felt a slight movement at her throat but it was all too brief.

  Elated at this minor accomplishment she continued but could not reproduce the effect, and though it had not gained her release she was overjoyed that she had succeeded for it meant she had a chance of developing this power, of using it and exploring it until she could augment her own escape.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The door slid aside and exposed the Mistress, her form clad in a basque of leather that followed her salacious contours and captured fishnet stockings to hold them up and beyond the tip of her leather thigh boots. A plain thong encircled her loins and leather gloves were embellished with studded wrist straps and a matching choker. She strode forward with her usual regal disposition and stopped before Kirsten’s head.

  “You’re in luck, slave. A prototype addition to your hide has been developed, and you are to be the first to gain it. Already a photosensitive layer of cells are being engineered as your outer layer of epidermis. The layer is a shell of therm-optic multi-spectrum camouflage and what that means in plain English is that you can use your abnormal mental disciplines to regulate and control this shell, refracting light across the spectrum to leave you a total chameleon. You should be proud, you are to be the first hound that will be virtually invisible. And you can thank me by licking my boots, slave,” she insisted, her gloved fingers removing the gag and opening her slave’s dry maw to the task ahead.

  With an awkward enthusiasm Kirsten began to lap at the pointed toes, stretching her tongue as far as she could to access the boot that filled her vision.

  The tang of the leather had her swimming in her submissive role, her place at the mercy of the woman an intense experience. Her hand lowered between her legs, the shell of skin now grown across her sex, allowing her to stroke herself, the glorious pleasure of her masturbation making her all the more enthusiastic for her task.

  “Such a dedicated little slave. I think I’ll put that eager little tongue to more work,” she crooned and the woman stepped astride her trapped head, towering over her and then sitting down, her thighs thrust to either side of Kirsten’s face.

  Without any trace of emotion she shuffled forward and pushed her sex into Kirsten’s features, clamping her thighs to the sides of the imprisoned head and locking a hand to the back of her skull. With her nose being used to plough into the thong, Kirsten was drowned in the scent of her owner’s arousal, the joy she was taking in using her pet clearly evident. Grabbing the thong she pulled it aside and drew Kirsten’s mouth into the warm and humid intimate folds.

  “Perform on me, slave, show me how grateful you are for training you, making you my property,” she whispered softly, already moving Kirsten’s head to have her face stroke her womb.

  Trapped and unable to resist the order, Kirsten hesitantly changed from licking the boots to nuzzling into her Mistress’ sex, flitting her tongue to make the dominatrix shudder and increase the potency of her grip.

  “That’s it my little pet, oh, such a dedicated slave,” she purred, breathing deeply as Kirsten shivered with rapture, tasting deeply of her Mistress, adoring her with glee. Rolling her tongue deep, spilling the flat against the roused clit, the scent of rubber was all around her, the image of her Mistress’ arched torso before her, driving her mad with lust. The task was one alien to her nature, yet she had no trouble complying, her indoctrination and absolute love for her owner leaving her able to commit any act to serve.

  “We’re going to have such fun, slave. I’m going to use you every day, have you service me, worship me. You’ll suffer such indignities, such bondage, such tortures as you’ve never dreamed of, and you’ll love them simply because I do,” she crooned, airing absent thoughts, her mind swimming in a sea of oral delight.

  The officer continued to drink her fill of Kirsten’s exclusive attentions, drowning in pleasure.

  “That’s it slave, keep going, I’m almost there,” she hissed, clenching her teeth, her body becoming tense as orgasm started to loom. The grip into Kirsten’s head grew stronger, making breathing difficult, heightening her own response to her hidden caresses. The Mistress released soft gasps and croaks of ecstasy, smothering Kirsten completely until she was compelled to shuffle back.

  Setting her thong straight she wiped a soft sheen of perspiration from her brow as Kirsten coughed and recovered her breath, the tang of her owner still ruling her tongue as she continued her sly masturbation. The skin that had grown upon her was making it a laborious process, but she didn’t mind, it drew out the pleasure, making the rise towards orgasm long and succulent.

  Turning around the Mistress laid herself face down before Kirsten, perching her chin upon her hands and staring into the face of her slave as she let her feet wiggle in the air.

  “Is my slave playing with herself down there?” Asked the woman.

  “Yes, Mistress, I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist, not while you were letting me taste you,” whimpered Kristen afraid that she had caused offence and would be punished.

  “I’m glad you were honest with me, slave. And because you did such a good job servicing me, I’ll let you off this time,” stated the Mistress, bringing a joyous grin to Kirsten’s lips. “Are you near to finishing, slave?” She added.

  “Yes, Mistress,” humbly answered Kirsten.

  “Good,” she reported and moved closer, pivoting her head and locking her lips to Kirsten’s. Kirsten’s eyes bulged as she was kissed, her body livid with jubilation as their tongues met and spiralled upon one another, the penetrating kiss of her owner causing her to launch into shaking fits of rapture, the arousal of being kissed by her goddess taking her over the edge in seconds. Choking and spluttering, trying to continue the exchange, Kirsten was overwhelmed with happiness that her Mistress was once more becoming a more caring force in her life. Now that she was truly broken and trained would this state of affairs continue? Or would the woman revert again back to harsh brutality?

  Lifting up onto her dagger heels the Mistress wheeled and departed, leaving Kirsten to her initiation into the caste of a hound and a fleeting longing stare to the leather-clad body she was pledged to serve and service.

  Chapter Twe
nty-Five

  The sound of movement about her distracted Maria from the straits of her restraint. The belt came away and the bag was tugged free, letting cool air wash away the fires of her battle for breath. The fresh air she drew in was like nectar to her lungs, so long had she dined on nothing but the stagnant reprocessed atmosphere of her impermeable helmet.

  A damp cloth wiped away the encrusted debris from her feeding and the back of the chair was snatched and dragged over to the kitchen window, placing her directly in the sunlight streaming through it, the dim growl of the nearby main road resounding softly without.

  Brash hands stuffed the cloth back into her maw, filling it entirely and sealing the zip over it to prevent a willing departure. The same busy fingers began to hoist up her skirt and lift it over her hips, exposing her abdomen to the warmth of the golden beams. Her concern as to what her tormentor was planning instantly leap up in degrees as he turned a magnifying glass in the light, catching the sun and concentrating its smile into a single dot of white heat. She jolted and bucked in her bonds as he began to draw this speck across her inner thighs, its speedy flight leaving a soft glow in its wake. The speck abruptly stopped and backed up and away from her vulnerable hide, the dot shrinking and making her scream as it scorched the tender skin. Wafting lines of sweat steam arose with the acrid stink of burned hair and he moved to focus his attention on another zone, having left a ruddy blemish to mark his ministrations. The heat welled into an inferno and with a squeal she spasmed against the ropes. Another spot of skin was touched by the incendiary stare and another, the man idly searing her with a lethargic glee, amused by her suffering. The horror of this spiteful maltreatment was as nought when it took a far darker turn from this childish game, for he drew aim upon her loins, tracing burning paths across her pubic hair, stripping it aside with a fiery beam before making the skin wail. After meandering around the perimeter he closed in with menace and began to attack her vulva and clitoris, the most unbearable of torments sending her into delirious paroxysms.

  Shrieking into her gag she thrashed in her confines, unable to endure this level of abuse. The session continued, his fixation for her suffering enlightening her fully in the rigours of this abuse until she was left an indolent wreck, her nose stained by the smell of her scorched loins and the stripped hair, her skin coated in a gossamer layer of fevered sweat that began to slowly vanish under the sun’s unmodified rays.

  With his captive rendered an enervated husk, he found no resistance as he untied the bonds and dragged her from the chair, her limbs flopping weakly as though she were half asleep.

  Taking advantage of this apathy he laid her out and roughly mounted her, thrusting into her with malicious stabs, finding a diabolic pleasure in using his phallus as a weapon of punishment. The tearing stabs animated her weak form and made her gurgle as the violence of his assault tore at her sex. With languid effort she tried to push him off, her muscles barely able to lift her limbs let alone get him away. Snatching the wavering wrists he pinned them down and ended his ravishment with a final volley of merciless jabs.

  Moving away, he tied his belt tightly about her waist and rolled her over before drawing her arms back, easily overcoming her token resistance and looping the freed lengths of rope around her elbows. A tug made the joints touch and a choked cry to rise from the smothering cloth in her mouth. Tight lines entwined the forearms and culminated at her outwardly turned wrists before lifting the arms up. Their twisted pose left her unable to bend them and the excess coils of the rope were thrown over her shoulders and dragged down to traverse between her legs and rise between the cheeks of her buttocks. The coil threaded over the belt and reached down to capture her ankles, dragging them up as far as they would go and then remaining steadfast.

  Without word he stepped away and admired his handiwork before deserting her on the kitchen floor. Maria was trapped in this painful contortion and was mindlessly afflicted by her bonds for daring to undertake the slightest movement. An attempt to straighten her legs pulled her arms up as the rope chafed across her chest and gnawed at her sex, her raised and turned arms already placed on the very boundary of snapping. The further drag at the limbs caused her torso to buck with the wrenching swell in her muscles and ligaments and any option to alleviate this distress visited a similar trauma to her ankles. Gasping and panting in this pose she returned to her telekinetic lesson, fighting to keep her mind applied as she doggedly strove to increase her powers, thinking only of escape, wondering how much more she could take of this harrowing captivity.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The girl was asleep when Jessica returned, her head lolling to one side, the black sheath having grown up to her neck. Jessica reversed the flow and drew out the volumes. After granting a small measure of time to allow the unfastened residue to drip away she flicked a control and had the lid opening. The slave dropped down, the fall causing her to instantly awaken and with a gasp she found that her entire frame was now coated in a skintight layer of shiny blackness. She instinctively grabbed it, trying to move the organic fabric, but tiny cilia had entered her pores to sup directly upon her sweat at the source, anchoring the material to her.

  Looking up she was shocked as she regarded her oppressor in her military uniform, the dark attire rigid and brooding, dredging up distant memories of her capture and her early imprisonment, the engrams before this time now hazy and indistinct, cloaked in a misty froth.

  The officer took up her slave and brought her to one of the crosses, setting her limbs along the steel rods and buckling them firmly in place with the thin but extremely dense straps.

  After gagging her she took up the nearest weapon from the wall and switched it on. The machine gave a pressurised hiss and mumbled softly to itself as the mechanism warmed up. Kirsten’s face contorted with terror as the muzzle was pushed to her ankle and this expression formed into a suffering grimace as a metallic shot echoed and a stab of pain jolted into the skin.

  The barrel came away to reveal a small dull stud, the tiny addition thumping in her flesh like a drumbeat. The Mistress moved up an inch and fired again before continuing and depositing a line of dark cones equally along her shin, at her knee and along her thigh before rising to her armpit, each shot making her writhe and gurgle into the hard gag. She thrust against the defiant bonds, dribble spilling from her lips as tears trailed from her eyes, but there was nothing she could do save pray for an end to this treatment.

  The other side was similarly treated and her subdued shrieks were ignored, the woman working with swift and pitiless purpose. A ring of imbedded studs were placed around her ankles and wrists and a line put along her arms. A single cluster fired into her mamilla, and a triangle was laid down against her pudenda, the impacts into this sensitive region making her squirm all the more fiercely. Her neck gained a row, the tiny spines being driven into her with the sensation of fiery swords. Finally, as her torpid and exhausted form lay within her bonds the woman unfastened her slave and turned her over. Any hope that the ordeal was over ended when the straps were re-deployed, holding her to the cross as the weapon was taken up once more.

  Groaning in despondent fright she felt the light touch of the muzzle and a blast of steel bored into the back of her neck before the steady peppering of her spine with the mordant thorns, each one wringing agonised howls deep from within her assaulted and ragged soul.

  Kirsten was barely conscious as the Mistress addressed her, the woman moving to the booth to clip a small box to her waist.

  “The studs I have placed upon you are sophisticated implants. They each hold a small wire into your nerves and can call upon the electrical energy your suit produces to conceal you, diverting this reserve to deliver shocks. I can control these by remote and can regulate their severity to be your primary means of chastisement, slave. Observe.”

  Touching the small metal box on her belt, their was a soft tremor through Kirsten’s flesh as the studs kindled their strength and readied for their task, the moments of delay all
too brief. Suddenly, blazing tidal waves of dissecting power were rolling throughout her body, ripping at her, making every fibre of her being screech in its dire woe. Jagged tongues of cyan power spat angrily from the small peaks, lighting up her dark skin as they blazed with force. Nothing she had undergone thus far had even come close to this level of diabolic fervour. The mere touch to the button had created a brief shock that had felt like it could annihilate her very psyche.

  The straps groaned as they sought to hold her, the seams barely able to accommodate her paroxysms as she jolted and shrieked. The shock ended and she fell limp, unable to move, her vitality gone, her lungs operating in spasmodic fits. Small wispy trails of steam curled up from her panting form.

  “This is now the consequence of disobedience, slave,” certified the Mistress, moving over and running a hand along the quaking black skin of her captive. “I hope you don’t give me too many occasions to use it. I’m sure you’d prefer other rewards rather than this sort of discipline,” she purred.

  Kirsten hung within the trammels, knowing that she was utterly defeated. There was to be no returning to any other way of life now, she had been moulded in body and soul to conform to the mannerisms and goals of a mutant hound, and with the horrendous retribution of the electrode implants, the option of defiance was even further distanced from her mind. The Mistress had softened her manner now that Kirsten had finally accepted her fate, and the promise of service to the divine sadist made her slavery a welcome sentence, something that had liberated her from her own self-induced imprisonment. Both of them were now free to revel in their debauchery, to take their delights in the giving and taking of pain and control.