Mastering Jacqueline

by Jordan Church

  Swampy’s hands drifted down and she squatted on her heels, her cheek pressed on the back of Fishy’s chair, both hands spreading and caressing Fishy’s aching needy pussy, “You’ve been ‘treated that way’ again and again and you loved it every time. You can’t go back to not being treated the way you deserve. That would be the true hell. “

  “No. I suppose you’ll tell me I can’t come unless I sign these documents? “For a crazy moment Fishy found herself wishing she would be issued that ultimatum so that she could give in gracefully, just not her fault. She wouldn’t ever sign, of course, but no way could she ever sign these things voluntarily and ever look herself in the mirror… not that these rooms had any mirrors to look into anyway…

  Swampy was oh so delicately but rapidly caressing her hardened clitoris and Sharer began mouthing her left nipple, nipple ring and all, with harsh suction, “It must be of your own free will. After all, it will be the last free act of your entire life. Whether you do or do not, you will be given the orgasm you desire. “

  Fishy could barely speak, “Then… no… I won’t sign them. Don’t stop! “

  As soon as she begged them not to stop they did exactly that.

  “But you said…. “

  “Don’t worry, Fishy, everyone here always keeps their bargains though not necessarily in the way people expect. We’ve had our fun slave exercise time with you but are a little hurt you won’t join us after all everyone has done for you. “

  Fishy was a little suspicious. A lot suspicious. They seemed to give up their “persuasion” awful quickly. They lured her into the situation, had those documents all prepared, only to give up after several denials…These people, extensions of Wayne Jones, were used to getting their way. It seemed to Fishy like they were giving up too quickly. Or was she just disappointed?

  “Since we’re slaves you think you’re better than us but the truth is you’re less. We’re proven slaves and you’re a slave who still doesn’t even accept she is a slave. Sharer and I will share our pleasures with each other once we’re alone. Don’t worry, you’ll get your orgasm, just not from us. Sharer, take her off to some other slave cell and let her exercise with the slave there. “

  “After… do I get to leave? “

  “Of course. If you want to leave you may. You’re not kidnapped! Everyone is law-abiding here. We violate social mores but do not break laws. But don’t leave yet, you’d lose out on your orgasm. After, you can leave this place if you still want to. “

  Their hands and lips were back in contact but very lightly, too lightly for any chance at true satisfaction. It was a breathless and trembling Fishy who said, “I can’t wait. “

  Fishy realized her response may have sounded to them like she was looking forward to escaping but in truth was she was preoccupied with the rewarding thought of another orgasm. She’d been such a naughty slut tonguing their dark holes, she needed a slut-worthy orgasm. She guessed it would be her final taste of twisted sex. She had a feeling of loss and a deep need in her pussy.

  Chapter 10

  They handcuffed her hands behind her back. Fishy resisted that a little but a couple hard spanks from Sharer put an end to that.

  Swampy soothingly mocked her, “Silly slut slave, Fishy! You don’t need hands for your orgasm. It’s out of your hands! Ha ha! “

  Sharer suppressed her chuckling and pressed the intercom button and the door buzzed open. No one spoke but Fishy knew for sure Wilrey must see the state she was in on his cameras. His pants were probably come-stained from the inside. She couldn’t really blame him if it was true. She knew she must look awesomely sexy, all sweaty and needy. Who could blame the poor dumb fat slob? He was seeing her in all her passionate glory, a vixen he would never be able to lay his hands on. Fishy nearly felt sorry for the unseen and silent Wilrey. Maybe Hotchkiss was watching too. The thought gave her a thrill of exhibitionism.

  Her legs felt like rubbery noodles, uncoordinated, as she walked/stumbled down the hallway to wherever Sharer was taking her. It didn’t help that Sharer kept shoving her. Swampy had been confident enough to stay behind. With her hands cuffed behind her Fishy would not have much chance to escape the long-limbed but strong Sharer. However, the thought of escape never even entered Fishy’s head.

  Sharer was only taking her a few rooms down, about halfway to Wayne Jones’ suite. With a shock Fishy saw two nurses walk past going in the opposite direction. One was topless, no bra, just a tight white skirt, white stockings, high white heels. Her cherry-red nipples on her small breasts and the rose red lipstick on her lips really stood out. The other wore a pressed white blouse… but no pants or underwear at all! The second nurse’s pubic hair was trimmed down to a neat and even plus sign and the hairs were even dyed red. It was a red cross, a mockery of the woman’s profession. Between the two women they wore one entire set of clothes, no more and no less. The second woman was even barefoot!

  At the room that was Sharer’s goal the door was immediately buzzed unlocked by the watchful guards. No game-playing this time. Sharer propelled her in and Fishy’s noodle legs barely kept her standing.

  The room had two beds like many of the other rooms but only one occupant. It was obvious to Fishy this woman was a fellow slave. Well… a slave like the others, Swampy and Sharer, Pretty Toy, and the nurses.

  Her bound and abused state made it obvious…

  She lay on her back, her feet leather-cuffed to the bed’s baseboard, and her hands were in some sort of leather mittens which here leather-strapped to her firm thighs. A taut rope ran across her midriff tied down somewhere under the bed. It was obvious she had almost no mobility. She couldn’t move her legs or arms, could not sit up with that rope pressing her down into the bed, and could not even wiggle a finger meaningfully.

  If her bound immobile state wasn’t enough of a credential to prove her abused slave status there were welts all over her, especially on her tummy, pelvis, hipbones, and thighs. Even more, the woman wore some bizarre kind of mask or helmet that made it impossible to see her face.

  Sharer shoved Fishy again, towards the bed, and Fishy barely kept her balance and avoided falling on the slave. As she precariously balanced at the edge of the bed she looked down at a shocking sight.

  The woman, the slave, whoever she was, had a tattoo just above her right knee on the front of her leg. In clown letters, fat and bulgy, each letter a different color than all the others, it stated SURPRISE HERE. An inch wide tattooed dotted line stretched from it up towards her pussy. Near the juncture of thigh and pelvis was a tattooed arrowhead pointing directly at that pussy. That pussy…

  Fishy was shocked all over again. Shocked and horrified. Her experiences had by no means made her immune to those feelings.

  The pussy was shaved bare. Between the iron helmet encompassing her hair and the shaved mound Fishy had no idea if the woman was blonde, brunette, or redheaded. The shaving was hardly surprising though. The piercings were.

  Not only did the slave have a freshly pierced clitoris -- Fishy shuddered to think how much that must have hurt -- she also had four more sets of piercings. On the right side of the slave’s outer labia were four evenly spaced studs lined up top to bottom of her slit. They came out of her tender flesh and mushroomed into thick nail-head surfaces. In her left labial lips, at the prominent edges instead of off to the side like the studs, were four pierce holes with teardrop looped rings of metal through them. The wider end of each of these metal loops was hooked onto each of their neighboring studs. This pulled her left labia stretched across her pussy, the fleshy curtain shyly revealing the pierced clitoris but nothing below it. As long as the teardrop rings were looped onto the studs the pussy was closed for business.

  The surprise the tattoo indicated was a shocking living nightmare. The tender flesh around the studs and pierce holes looked red and enflamed. The clitoris was especially swollen. Fishy was no expert b
ut she figured the pierce holes and tattoo were quite fresh.

  Fishy automatically looked at the woman’s face or at least tried to look. Her entire head was in an iron helmet. There were two rectangular eye holes but even these had a screen of metal wires. Fishy could see eyes moving in there but could not even figure out their color. She knew the occupant of the iron mask would not be able to see well.

  Below the eye rectangles there was a prominent convex triangular imitation nose with iron nostrils cut into it and below that was the bizarre mouth arrangement. The slave gurgled gurgled strangely. There was a grille over her mouth, circular, with crosshatched metal wires like the ones over the eyes. In the middle of the circle was a large pink rubber dildo, the head sticking straight out from her mouth, about eight inches from the grill to the head. It had a corkscrew base that was fully screwed in to a screw opening at the top of a huge pink rubber ball in the slave’s mouth. This left the wide dildo very little wiggle room where it was surrounded by the mouth grille. The slave gurgle-groaned when Fishy leaned over her head to survey the situation.

  Intrigued, Fishy peered through the huge O-shaped grill around the fat rubber dildo. She could see the mouth stretched all out of proportion, lip flesh taut around the massive ball gag / dildo base. Amazing. Fishy wondered how long this slave had endured the dildo’s presence. Hours or days? What would that non-stop discomfort combined with a total loss of mobility feel like? No mobility, no freedom, no communication. Just suffering.

  Fishy wondered… She craned her neck back over that disfigured… or accentuated… pussy. The clitoris looked swollen, which could be symptomatic of either a fresh piercing or arousal, but clear fluids leaked everywhere and a rivulet ran down into the slave’s ass crack. Yep. They’d either aroused this one and kept her aroused without satisfaction through the use and abuse -- much like Fishy’s own predicament -- or this woman was aroused by her current circumstances. Either way it was either an added torture or an added reward.

  Sharer broke through her reverie, “Here’s where I leave. If you want you can hump the corner of a mattress and come that way. Or you can enjoy this slave and use her body to get one. She’ll probably like that. Up to you. Either way, someone will come by for you when you’re done. I’m going to be sharing pleasure with Swampy. See you. “

  Fishy watched Sharer leave and the door electronically clicked locked behind her departure. She was alone with the unknown slave.

  Fishy briefly considered the choices. There was actually a third choice and the pulsating need greed in her pussy made it clear the third choice had nothing to do with refraining from sex. She was damn well going to have this orgasm and the whole world could go to hell. If the devil appeared she would beg to make a deal with him for it.

  The third choice would involve her turning around and using her cuffed hands to work the leather straps binding the slave’s ankles and arms. Once she sat up Fishy would be able to undo the bindings behind that iron dildo helmet and free the slave’s head. Then she could wriggle under the rope and the two of them could use that unscrewed pink dildo to screw each other.

  Fishy could free her.

  But it would take some time.

  Precious time. Even more delay in achieving her climax. What if someone showed up too soon to release her? What then? No satisfaction? Her need was overwhelming. She must have it. What greater good would this slave serve her unbound than she was bound?

  This slut was sorely abused but probably liked it. Probably deserved it. Probably did not even want to be free. Fishy certainly didn’t want her free.

  Fishy bent, leaned, and tilted her body onto the bed, face near the bound woman’s feet. It was an awkward process.

  The unknown slave groaned and made a deep gurgling squeal as if she actually had the nerve to protest!

  “Shut up, whoever you are. This is going to happen. All you have to do is lay there. This is going to be good for both of us. You’re going to like it, too. I’ll make sure of it. “

  Fishy got her knees under her, face pushed into the blankets, and then maneuvered one leg up and over the slave’s torso. Her knee brushed a soft full breast and Fishy imagined the flesh rippling with contact, rippling from the shaking her moves were causing in the bed. Fishy was flopping around the soft bed like a fish out of water and knew she must look a sight to viewers on the other side of the cameras.

  When she shifted her belly on top of the slave’s tummy and then undulated it to work her body backwards up that bound form, the slave groaned and her whole body went rigid as if she was trying her limited best to buck Fishy into sliding off her. Damn, what was this slave’s problem?

  “Hold still, you little slut! “Without conscious thought Fishy twisted her mouth to the top of one thigh and chomped down on the whip-slashed skin there. Didn’t some fish have teeth? This one did!

  The slave wailed in a muffled fashion, bucked harder for a moment, before the pain tamed her and made her body relax and just accept the pain, accept the situation.

  Fishy got her knees more under her and dragged her heavy breasts up the slave’s body until her knees were even with the slave’s ear holes, then pulled her torso upright with a mighty effort so she was balanced only on her knees. Fishy wavered as she centered her demanding pussy over that pink rubbery phallus.

  Looking down the slave’s body Fishy was disgusted by what they’d done to her pussy but, somehow, was even more appalled by the livid bite mark she’d left on the woman’s thigh. Why had she done that to this poor helpless already abused slave? That wasn’t like her.

  She realized it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t really in charge of herself. Her pussy was in command. It needed satisfaction and it would compel Fishy to do anything to achieve it.

  Her weight, as she allowed her trembling knees to slide slightly outward, caused the head of the rubber cock to nose her pussy lips apart. Her lust spiraled.

  She sank down, her knees spreading until the inner muscles of her thighs tensed prominently. Any discomfort and awkwardness was inconsequential to Fishy. The fullness of penetration and pushing internal discomfort was wonderful. It was fulfilling to be filled.

  She was well-lubricated, the continual arousal had built up a small pool of pussy juice. The dildo’s penetration broke the dam releasing the fluid but she didn’t even realize it until she sank all the way down. With a shock her pushed wide pussy lips made contact with the cold metal and she could feel it was all wet now.

  Trying not to lose her balance she looked down. Her hot pussy lips were split to either side of the wide base and, just an inch below them, inside the closed helmet, she could see the lips of the slave’s mouth stretched wide all around their section of the ball gag and base of the dildo. Fishy saw her pussy juices had run down through the grille around the dildo and had flowed all over the slave’s lips.

  Fishy was disgusted. She could imagine that poor slave trapped immobile in the mask as the pussy honey slid in, flowed all over her jaw, and down around the back of her head. Fishy was disgusted and turned on too.

  Fishy had assumed the grille was to allow air in and out. To allow the slave to breath. But the iron helmet had nostril holes and the slave’s mouth was packed with dildo anyway. That big mouth grille wasn’t for breathing. It was there specifically to allow pussy juice to flow in to immerse the slave in musky fluid and fill the helmet with the smell of womanhood. With her mouth wide-open shut the slave had no choice but to take deep dragging sniffs of saturated pussy-scented air. Fishy thought it was such a nasty contraption. One that turned her on and made her feel great.

  Fishy mashed her pussy down on the unforgiving iron mask, pulping more pussy juice to flow down into the helmet.

  The slave jerked her head side to side as if she was panicking and trying to escape the position. Fishy’s grinding drove the huge pink ball forming the dildo base down into the slave’s mouth and
compacted her tongue tortuously. The slave’s head could only move the barest millimeters in any direction up down or side to side but it had an amazing effect on Fishy’s rippling pussy.

  Fishy rode that iron helmet up and down, harder and harder, bouncing it off the mattress with each downward plunge. She changed her angle, rocking backward, and gasped. The iron mask had an overly prominent angular nose. The new angle drove her little anus hard against the false nose, stabbing it onto the metal triangle. Instead of trying to avoid the prodding, as she would have thought she would, she found herself grinding her butt hole into the nose, seeking and enjoying the slight second penetration.

  “Ohhhhhhhh! “It was so twisted, so wrongly good.

  Sensation overflowed and burst through her body and she yelled an ecstatic orgasm. She kept howling and kept bouncing on that dildo, on that metal helmet, her legs hugging the iron surface. Moisture flowed from her flexing pussy walls and down into the mask.

  Fishy gradually rocked slower and calmed out of the orgasm. She was still flying high from the orgasm. She heard the slave gurgling and had a momentary shock of concern she might have filled the helmet and drowned the poor thing. She saw the slave’s chest below her rising and falling nice and steady and was reassured.

  While catching her breath she examined the slave’s body from her seat atop the slave’s head. She had a beautiful body. That awful tattoo! Fishy gasped with continued pleasure and sympathetic horror as she realized this woman she was using could never ever wear a short dress or shorts in public with a tattoo like that one just above her knee.

  The tattooed arrow did cause Fishy to look again at that pierced pussy. It was even wetter now and the fullness of the clitoris was now undoubtedly from arousal. The slave was turned on, too!

  With her hands cuffed behind her Fishy had no way to lower herself gradually. All she could do was fall forward, flopping onto the slave’s body in an awkward sixty-nine. As her chin bounced on the fleshy little trampoline of the slave’s lower abdomen Fishy yelped in pain. The damn dildo. Falling forward forced the slave’s helmeted head to incline a little forward but the dildo was still pressed harshly against the back of Fishy’s vagina, roughly parallel with her spine.