Own This Body

by Reese Gabriel

Whatever that entailed.

  “I don’t…feel so good…”

  A pair of strong male arms suspended me as I fell.

  “Take her on back,” drawled the warden as my consciousness ebbed, “to SD 1.”

  When next I awoke, I was lying on a concrete floor, wearing only the purple panties, shades of Connerly in the milk cooler. Except that instead of being cold, I was clammy and hot. I sit up and that’s when I felt the rising panic. I was trapped in a tiny cell, no windows, and no furniture.

  “Hello?” I stood up, calling out to the bare stone walls. “Can anyone hear me?”

  In the center of one of those bare stone walls was a door, painted gray and made of thick metal. “Hello?” I repeated, pounding my small fist on the hard surface.

  Nothing.

  I turned about, surveying my prison. The cell was a square, about ten-feet by ten- feet. There was a drain in the middle, and I noticed now a slight depression in the concrete around it. There were heavy metal rings fixed in it as well, and again along the wall, and one that hung from the ceiling.

  “Hello?” I got down on all fours, peering into the drain, then crawled to the door. I could see now a smaller door built-in, almost like a pet door along the bottom. But what was its purpose?

  Just then a light flashed on the wall. It was bright blue and it flashed in time to the sound of a buzzer. Curious, I went up to it, hands on my ears to block out the sound. There was a whole series of lights, small bulbs in a half dozen colors. What could be their purpose and why was only the blue one on?

  At first I didn’t hear the door opening. There was a scraping sound, a kind of clicking, and then the metal heaved itself open, pulled by strong hands. A man entered, bare-chested with a black, leather mask over his face. I retreated to the far wall, cowering, my hands over my breasts.

  “Who are you? Why am I here?” I demanded. “Am I still at the prison farm?”

  The man just stood there, his brown eyes peering at me through the eye slits. He seemed to be waiting for me to do something, but what? Heartbeats passed as I waited, helpless. He was a big man, bronze-chested and I knew I could never hope to fight him off if he decided to come for me.

  I jumped as he snapped his fingers and pointed to his boots, big heavy military ones tucked into black fatigues.

  “I don’t. . .”

  This time he reached for me, seizing my hair. Like a rag doll, he pushed me down, knees to the concrete, face to his boot. Grasping the meaning, or so I hoped, I humbled myself, bestowing a kiss to the top of his boot.

  The man bent down and patted my head. I looked up at him and he was holding a small piece of dried beef. I reached for it, only to have him slap me hard across the face.

  “Ow!” I squealed. “Why did you do that?”

  The man turned on his heel and walked out, the gray metal door locking behind him.

  “You’re all crazy,” I called out, feeling for the first time the gnawing hunger in my belly reminding me I hadn’t eaten since being taken out of the crate at the airport. Up to that point, I’d been allowed to gnaw on a small sandwich out of a woman’s hand while a large Asian man took me from behind.

  Deciding anger was getting me nowhere, I tried another approach. “Please may I have something to eat? Sirs? Whoever’s out there?”

  As if on cue, the blue light went off again. Sure enough, the door opened. At first I was happy, but then I saw the muscular man was holding a whip. A short, thin leather one of the sort used on horses.

  “What are you going to do with that?” I wanted to know. “If you touch me, that’s against the law. I know my rights.”

  Strong hands grabbed me. Using one hand to twist me about, he landed a blow with the whip to the back of my thigh, just below the bottom of my panties. It hurt. Bad. But it was making me wet too, just like it was to stand almost naked before a strong powerful man who seemed impervious to my will and feelings, not to mention my comfort.

  All at once my tormentor pulled back to stand in the center of the cell just as he had the first time. On a sudden whim, I went to him, kneeling down to kiss his boot, as I had before. Lowering myself into position, I pressed my nose and lips, slowly, lingeringly. After a few seconds the hand came down on my head, reassuringly. I looked up, ecstatic to see the small piece of beef again in his hand. But how would I get to the next step? When I’d reached with my hand, I had been cuffed and gotten nothing. He clearly was trying to give it to me, though, which left only one possibility…could it be…my mouth? Was it that simple?

  Tentatively, looking up at him, I parted my lips. Using my eyes, soft and pliant, I tried to show him I meant no trouble. He bent down and I flinched. But he wasn’t trying to hit me; he only wanted to put the bit of beef in my mouth.

  Eagerly I devoured it. I was still kneeling there savoring it as he left me, once more sealing me behind the somber door. Feeling pretty good, I licked my lips. Then it hit me. A sting immediately rose to my cheeks, hot and red as I replayed the events in my mind. I hadn’t outsmarted my keeper at all, rather I had played right into his hands. In, short, I was being trained.

  “It won’t work,” I called out to the ears I was certain were listening. “Do you hear me? I won’t let you manipulate and control me like an animal.”

  The buzzer sounded, but this time it was the yellow light that blinked. The keeper, as I decided I would call him now for want of a better term, re-entered. I was on my guard. The different light had to mean something new, unexpected. I was pleased at least to see he did not have the whip this time.

  “I don’t like these games,” I told him. “Just talk to me. Tell me what you want.”

  The keeper opened the zipper of his fatigues, producing a thick, semi-erect cock. I thought he might come for me, to take me, but he wasn’t moving, just standing there, waiting for me to come to him.

  “No,” I shook my head, understanding his intent. “I won’t do that. You can’t make me.”

  The keeper came for me and I tried to fend him off. Twice he struck me with the back of his hand till I lay at his feet. Pulling me by the hair, he dragged my head over the small drain in the center.

  “What are you doing? Stop…no!” I wailed, looking up at him in horror. “Not that!”

  The keeper drained himself on my face and torso. I squirmed, but his boots were on either side of my hips, holding me fast. By the time he was done, he’d pissed all over my hair, tits and everything. My eyes were tightly shut and my mouth, but I could still taste it on my lips. He left me like this, bathed in the warm, humiliating liquid. Rolling to my belly on the gritty concrete, I cried, all the more so because in my soiled panties things were happening, naughty sexually submissive things. I wanted so bad to touch myself, but I was sure there were cameras. What a slut I was, just like the chief said! Was there no depth I wouldn’t sink to?

  The buzzer sounded, and I struggled to my knees to see which light. It was the purple one this time. I collapsed back down, unable to handle anything new. The keeper was above me presently, demanding something. He kicked at me, and at first I tried to roll into a ball, but I quickly gauged he wanted me up on my feet. Touching me roughly, poking my sex with a latex-gloved finger, he indicated the panties needed to come off. I slithered them down, stepped out of them and, not knowing what else to do, attempted to hand them over.

  The keeper pinched my nipples hard, making my eyes water. I knew immediately I’d done wrong. But what was the right thing to do?

  “Show me,” I begged. “Please?”

  He pantomimed with his mouth and pointed down. I snatched up the underwear and held it between my teeth. This must have been right, because he was putting me in position now, using his hands to spread my arms, then kicking my feet wide. He made one final check, circling my body before leaving me.

  The mystery of the purple light was solved a moment later. A small vent slid open in the wall, and a nozzle was shoved through. A moment later a gush of water came roaring at me, a high-powered stream di
rected exactly at my captive body. I was nearly knocked off my feet, but I held my ground. The nozzle moved about, flattening both breasts, pressure cleaning the dangling panties and then covering my breast and belly. When it hit my pubis it was like having a man inside me.

  A counter buzzer sounded, and the only thing I could think to do was turn around. My ass was pummeled now and my back. Twice more, I heard the new noise, and each time I tried to present a different part of myself. Eventually it stopped and I collapsed back to the floor on my belly, sopping wet on the rough, warm stone. For a long while, I listened, but no more noises came, or colored lights. Eventually, I nodded off, from sheer exhaustion, the recessed ceiling light still glowing fluorescent.

  I awoke a short time later, my throat parched, my lips chapped. I was hungry, too, and my head was throbbing. The water had dried on my skin, but I was dirty again from the floor. My hair was like a rat’s nest. The panties were still on the floor, still damp. Preferring to have something at least to cover my crotch and ass, I slipped the dirty garment back on. It was a humbling experience, to be so grateful for so little.

  “Please,” I called out, remembering how they had seemed earlier to hear my every word. “I am thirsty…and hungry. May I have a little something?”

  The seconds ticked away, as I awaited their response. I was taking a chance on being beaten, but I could not endure without some sustenance.

  “Please…sirs?”

  A key found its way into the lock. I heard the familiar sound of turning tumblers, the creak of hinges. My heart was pounding fiercely. Was I to receive pleasure or pain? Scuttling to the back wall, I crouched, protecting my bare breasts. I gasped at the sight of the new man, not the same keeper, but someone else, a man with dark hands, black fatigues and boots and a khaki shirt, no insignia. Like the first man, a leather hood over his head hid his features from me.

  This man was larger, and even more heavily muscled. I focused on his hands, huge and powerful. If he were to slap me with one of them, like the first man had, I was liable to be transported clear across my cell, impacting on the other side. I would almost have preferred he had a whip.

  I jolted at the sound of the buzzer. Looking instinctively to the row of lights on the wall, I saw the telltale blue. Pulsing methodically, predictably. Should I react to it as I had before, with the first keeper, or would it have a different meaning with this one? I let several seconds pass, paralyzed. He started walking toward me, the palm of his right hand broad and flat. Lunging forward in a panic, I fell at his feet, planting my lips upon the top of the man’s boot, desperately, placatingly.

  The man reached down for me and I braced myself for the worst. Then I felt his fingertips and realized he was only rubbing the top of my head. My body shuddered with relief, warmth flooding my crotch in response to his soft touch on my hair. Sitting up for him, my eyes moist and needy, I allowed the new keeper to stroke me. Obediently, mouth opened, I took the tiny treat on my tongue, thus confirming between us our new relationship.

  Guard and prisoner, keeper and…pet.

  The words made me hot and I could feel the trickle from out of the juncture of my thighs in response. It shamed me that the man could see me like this, and smell me, too. I was a lady, deserving of respect and honor. They might keep me prisoner, but this…this was too much to endure.

  The renewed buzzer cut through me like a knife. It was the same sound as before. I cringed inwardly as my eyes confirmed the change in lights, from blue to yellow. Anything but this. To be pissed on yet again…

  I lowered myself to my belly at his feet. “Please, sir, I beg you not to…to urinate on me.”

  To think that I had already sunk this far, that I would say such a thing, and be in such a position. What did it matter, anyway, my petty protests? There men did to me precisely what they wanted; they were like Galentano’s men. To them I was an object, a little slut to abuse and torment. What was it Silvio had said to me?

  Unfortunately for you, I enjoy making pretty girls cry.

  I was about to do precisely that, when I felt a nudging at the side of my face. I opened my eyes and saw that the man was trying to get my attention with his boot. Raising myself up on my hands, I looked to see what he wanted. The man’s cock was out, dark brown and hard as steel. It was coming back to me now, what had happened before, how the first keeper had wanted something else from me, before the pissing.

  So that’s what the yellow light meant.

  A choice of fluids. A golden shower, or…

  I shook my head. “Please, sir, I would choke…”

  The keeper took a handful of dark hair, compelling me to my knees. The tears in my eyes now were those of pain. Gaping my jaws as wide as I could, I readied myself for the intrusion.

  The cock was hot and salty, pulsing round my tongue and in my cheeks. Using my hair as a lever, he shifted me as he wished, making my mouth a fuck vessel of the first order. He wanted the back of my throat, and he pushed the tip straight to that little flap that always makes me gag. I fought the urge hard, even as other feelings overwhelmed me; a hot, slutty weakness that turned my limbs to gelatin, even as it made my nipples rock hard and my clit throb. It was as if being forced was itself a turn on, knowing that this man was taking from me exactly what he wanted and that I had no power, no right even to refuse him. What was I, after all, but a naked prisoner, a filthy little dark haired bitch with a cunt between her legs and a mouth that was good for screwing.

  I was property, that’s what I was. A piece of ass belonging to Silvio Galentano on loan, in hideout from the police. One day he’d come back for me, when everything blew over, when Reynolds, the chief and everyone else had given up on me. Then I would work at the club. Stripping and fucking and crawling, licking crumbs from the floor.

  The keeper was grunting, like he was going to come. I braced myself for the flood—I’d certainly done this often enough over the years, most recently for that conniving pervert Jeremy Rich—but at the last possible second, the keeper withdraw. Keeping one hand on the top of my head to hold me, he used the other to coat me in a spray of a very different kind.

  I closed my eyes against the hot onslaught. He was a large man and his semen came in thick gobs, landing on my face and neck and breasts. Even my eyelids and hair were not spared. When he’d finished with me, he dropped me to the floor, zipped himself and left. On my side, breathing heavily, thighs clenched together, I tried to regain my senses. Was I allowed to masturbate? How could I not—covered in cum, left like this, totally despoiled?

  I wiped my hand over my face, to remove the excess. At once the door reopened and the keeper returned. He had a whip this time. Five times he struck my ass, his hand on my hip, pinning me on my side. He took my panties down first, so he could strike bare flesh, right across the meat of my gluteus maximus.

  This time when he left, the lights went out. As near as I could tell, I’d broken some rule by wiping off the keeper’s jism. Apparently once marked like that I was to stay marked, regardless of my own preference not to lie like an animal covered in the sperm of men who thrust themselves in my mouth and make me lick their shoes clean.

  Unbidden now, my hand found the wet, hot opening. Under cover of blackness, naked on the concrete, my punished ass throbbing and my teeth gritted to stay the screams, I came and came and came.

  ***

  Eventually, I caught on. The green light meant punishment, generally a whipping. I’d been on sensory overload in the beginning and the fact hadn’t registered that the light went off each and every time I was to be disciplined. It was tricky because there wasn’t a buzzer with this one. But if I could catch it ahead of time, and put myself in position, kneeling, face to the floor and ass in the air, they would generally go a little lighter.

  I’d no idea how long it was since they’d brought me to SD-1, but I can tell you I have been whipped four times, not counting the individual or small combination blows that came with my regular training. The real whippings, ten blows or more,
were a case unto themselves. On two of these occasions, I knew what I’d done wrong. It had to do with the red light. This one was hard to figure out, and it messed me up on occasion. It meant fucking and feeding both.

  I had to guess what position they wanted me in for red and sometimes I guessed wrong. I generally opt to lie on my back, arms spread, knees up, legs wide apart for penetration. To me this is the most submissive, but if they want me in the ass and find me face-up then they’re liable to be mad and then the green light will go off. Sometimes they want my mouth, too, which isn’t fair, because they should use the yellow light for that.

  And if I’m really hungry, which is all the time, then it’s very hard not to be at the door on all fours for the red light, drooling in anticipation of whatever little bowl of food or water might be pushed through the little opening at the bottom of my cell door. One whipping I got for picking up the bowl of water to drink from it. No one had said not to, but I should have known better.

  No one says anything, of course. That is part of the training. I have to figure it all out on my own and that makes me twice as eager to please them. It’s not easy, believe me. How I guessed that the white light was exercise, for example, I have no idea. But it is, and when it goes off, no matter if I’m sleeping, I have to get up and run around the perimeter of the cell, as fast as I can until the light goes off. If it’s not fast enough, if I’m not visibly perspiring and my tits aren’t bouncing enough, then they punish me. With clamps and weights for the nipples and I have to run all over again like that. I always push my chest way out when I run so I don’t get punished that way.

  Some things I figured out by intuition. Figuring out that the only way to relieve one’s self is to squat over the drain, for example. And knowing how each of the four keepers likes to be sucked. They work in shifts, the men, and I’ve gotten to know them all quite well, obviously. They know things about me, about my body no other man ever has, and maybe never will. There’s an intimacy about being trained, which is hard to describe. A certain trust factor, a total surrender that cannot come unless I belong to a man, as his total pet. When a buzzer sounds, a light flashes, I come alive. I know what to do and what to be. And the keepers know, too. If they open my cell and I am bathed in yellow light, than I will be on my knees, mouth at the ready. Green—whether or not I know the cause of my error—finds me ass first, awaiting the whip. Blue, in turn, will see me on my belly, ready to crawl that I might pay homage to a keeper’s boot.