Learning to Crawl

by John Argus

  Once she showed up.

  If she showed up!

  Such a document would be useless in her presence, for she would simply disavow it. If she were absent for an extended period, however, her stepfather could make whatever use of her money he desired.

  She needed more information about what the two of them were planning, and turned to Richardson’s computer. Fortunately it required no password to enter and she snorted angrily at his obvious contempt for her ability, or perhaps her desire to figure out what was going on. She quickly looked for any files of his own making. There were many, but she limited herself to those no more than a month old.

  That left a much narrower field to search and she found it in a small sub-directory called Slave. Inside were a number of letters he had sent to her stepfather. Most were replies to letters most likely locked in his desk. The first spoke of her, of finding her in a club and watching her go home with some young man, and stated that he thought there would be little difficulty in enticing her to his penthouse.

  Each letter seemed to grow more and more smug, and Richardson obviously enjoyed taunting her stepfather with the sexual details of how he was ‘training’ his sluttish stepdaughter. Her face grew red with anger and embarrassment as she read through them, barely able to credit the thought that he had actually mailed the things to her stepfather.

  …seemed to feel being buggered was somewhat beneath her status in life, but she quickly grew to love it. Of course she put up a token resistance at first, but was soon begging me for more. Some girls are naturals in that way, you know…

  ‘My God,’ she whispered, putting a hand over her mouth. Murderous thoughts crossed her mind, but far more urgent was locating any remaining videos or signed statements; aside from her inheritance, the humiliation she felt at the thought of people she knew viewing videos of her or reading her fantasies was almost unbearable.

  She needed the keys to the desk and those cabinets. It was possible she could break into them without, if she could find hammers or pry bars, but they were strongly built, and if she failed there was no hiding what she was after and no telling what he would do to her. He and her stepfather obviously could not let her go home again if they were to share out her trust fund, so what were they going to do with her?

  She would have to get his keys when he was home, asleep, most likely. The problem with that notion was that he never left her unbound when he was home, except when she was caged. And he didn’t always let her sleep in the cage. She had not realised why until she scanned the book on mind control techniques. Obviously he did not want her getting any decent sleep. Having seven or eight full hours might clear her mind enough to wonder at her captivity.

  So usually she was bound in a position of some discomfort, sometimes simply standing up all night. When she slept it was usually for a period of an hour or two during the day or evening. In this way she was constantly a little fuzzy, and keeping her protein intake low and smacking her whenever she spoke or acted out of turn seemed to have robbed her of whatever rebellious thoughts she might have held.

  No, that wasn’t entirely true, she told herself. She had revelled in the sexual degradation, in the use and abuse, in being ravished and treated like a sexual animal. It was that as much as anything else that had kept her from rebelling.

  Even reading his taunting letters to her father she felt a quiver of arousal at being so degraded, at the memory of the activities he described.

  …seems to be a natural whore… one letter said. …I’m sure you would have been pleased with her the other evening when she performed sexually with six of my male acquaintances. She climaxed so enthusiastically a few of them thought she was playacting; that no woman could be so wanton…

  Gwen remembered the occasion. It had both embarrassed and exhilarated her to be naked in front of six strangers, fully dressed older men, and to present herself to each for a spanking and then to be used as they chose. She felt her loins warming at the memory, at the images of herself and the men involved.

  She shook her head as if to clear it and then considered her options.

  The best would probably be to find something to cut through the leather straps, find something to wear and then take a taxi to… well, to anywhere.

  But she was not about to call her stepfather for money home. She couldn’t – not now.

  No, she was going to find whatever evidence Richardson had against her, and…

  Gwen frowned as she came across some new information in Richardson’s computer. It was regarding a new mining company he was organising with others, including her stepfather. That, apparently, was how the two men had become acquainted. She knew little about business, but knew quite a bit about stocks. Her trust was largely in stocks, after all, and she had greedily followed them for some time.

  She frowned as she read through the file, then the others that accompanied it. She had to puzzle quite a few things out at first, but gradually she understood they were discussing a highly illegal stock swindle. The men had formed a mining company – on paper. They were discussing how to build the company up by word of mouth and rumour before it opened on the stock exchange. The company was supposed to be laid out as one hastily formed to take advantage of an enormous gold find in Indonesia. Those with the ‘inside scoop’ would be able to buy up the stock quickly and then make a fortune when it skyrocketed as the news was released.

  Except that there was no company and no gold mine.

  Gwendolyn Allison Pepperdine smirked to herself as the details of a plan formed in her mind.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Grovel, you slut!’

  Gwen panted as she crawled frantically along the hall trying to escape the lash of Richardson’s switch, hearing the laughter of his two companions as they herded her towards the dungeon. She had already performed oral sex on all three men, but that was merely the warm up, and a part of her trembled with suppressed excitement at the anticipation of what they would do to her next.

  It had been several days since she found out about Richardson’s plan, but she had not yet been able to do anything. Richardson had taken to shackling her in place as often as using the leather restraints. It was apparently easier and he was growing more complacent about his use of her. The locks on the shackles were simple affairs, for they were made more for play than for seriously restraining prisoners. The keys to many were interchangeable.

  She had managed to take one such key, a small thing little larger than her thumbnail, and somehow contrived to hang on to it, hiding it in her mouth, tucked beneath her tongue.

  But he never shackled her at any time when he was asleep or out. He used the tighter leather restraints with their unreachable buckles. She knew she was running out of time, for sooner or later he would find the little handcuff key and then she would be in real trouble. Worse still, she was starting to have lapses where she forgot what she was planning or even why. Even hating him as much as she did she still found her body responding to his touch, to his punishments and restraining methods, even to his presence. Her mind was sinking again into the role of compliant sexual slave ever ready to please and obey her master.

  The key was safely under her tongue, and she had developed the skill of keeping it there even when having to fellate a man, which she just had – three of them.

  Richardson turned to her and unceremoniously dragged her up to her feet by the hair, then placed her between two beams and raised her arms. He spread them apart and clipped her leather wrist restraints to chains in the beams, forcing her to stand very straight.

  Then he picked up a strange U-shaped metal pipe and carried it back to her. He laid the legs down on the floor then pushed it into her lower abdomen, forcing her feet to shift backwards. The cold steel pushed harder and he eased the lower legs into two postholes set in the floor, and then gave a final shove.

  The effect was to push her hips b
ack from the beams, which meant her bottom jutted back and she was forced to bend forward a little, rising to her toes. Her bottom was thus perfectly posed for any use they cared to make of it.

  ‘I ask you, gentlemen, is this not a magnificent bottom?’ he boasted.

  ‘It truly is,’ one of the men replied.

  ‘Yes, gorgeous,’ the other said, nodding sagely.

  Hands moved across her bottom, squeezing and lightly slapping.

  ‘This is a backside made for punishment,’ Richardson said.

  Gwen moaned softly and he slapped her bottom again, sniggering contemptuously. ‘The slut knows what she likes,’ he said.

  He was a real snake. And yet her pussy was starting to thrum excitedly and her breathing was growing more ragged – and it grew worse when he grinned at her and displayed an odd looking little metal triangle. One side held a narrow strip of some material that looked like suede. He reached beneath the horizontal bar pressed against her abdomen, and she felt that side of the triangle pushing up against her pussy. Then it snapped into place on the underside of the bar and she moaned anew at the pressure it exerted, pushing up firmly against her clit.

  Richardson moved away, then returned, holding a crude plastic phallus. He fed it into her pussy, working it in slowly but not terribly gently, he and the other men sniggering at her distress as it penetrated deep into her body.

  A pair of weights was then clipped to her nipples, and the men were ready to get started.

  Richardson offered the first go to the thinner of the two guests, and he picked up a strap, positioned himself to one side of her and swung it horizontally.

  Crack!

  Gwen groaned as it struck her bottom. The pain was not great, but the impact made her jerk helplessly. Her groin jammed against the suede strip and her pussy clenched sharply around the thick dildo inside.

  The heat of the blow had barely begun to subside when another followed, then another, then another still. The man rained abuse on her as he strapped her, asking how she liked it and if she knew how much she deserved it.

  Her bottom grew blotchy and hot and her groin began heaving more purposefully against the strip between her legs. She told herself not to – told herself she must resist. Several times she almost lost control, forgot completely about the key and almost let it slip from her mouth.

  Her bottom was aflame when the man stopped, and then the second stranger moved in, holding a long switch. The blow was sharper, lighter, yet more painful, the sting deeper and more acute. She yelped and jerked more violently, gasping and panting as she tried to hold herself still. The pleasure grew and the sexual haze began to cloud her mind.

  So what if he kept her there forever? She’d be a real slave then – a sexual prisoner!

  She ground herself against the strip angled so perfectly in beneath her and squeezed her vaginal muscles around the thick intruder wedged there. The thinner man reached in and slapped the base of the dildo that protruded from her, and she cried out as her body was thrown forward. The switch bit into her soft buttocks, angling lower, snapping at the top of her thighs, and she whimpered and squirmed in a vain attempt to avoid its bite.

  Then Richardson set to work with a riding crop. The blow was heavier now, and the pain had much more bite to it. She cried out with each strike, tears filling her eyes as the pain mounted. Again and again she was driven off her toes to hang there against the bar wedged into her abdomen, the angled strip jammed in hard against her clitoris.

  One of the men moved forward in his eagerness and opened his trousers. With one lunge he thrust himself into her bottom, rutting furiously, jamming her sex against the strip of material wedged there and driving her into an incredible climax. Only chance stopped her from swallowing the key or it dropping from her slack lips as her mind disintegrated under the maelstrom of sensory exultation. She spasmed and jerked as his groin pummelled her ravaged buttocks and his hands mauled her breasts.

  He finished with her and stepped back, and Richardson struck her with a cane. Her head rolled back and she just had the presence of mind to embed the key safely under her tongue again as a little sanity returned with the pain, and held it there as another blow followed, then another, and still more. She was sobbing openly, tears dropping to the floor below, but none of the men appeared to feel any pity for her.

  The second stranger moved behind her and penetrated her bottom, and when he was finished Richardson took his turn, using her as roughly as always as he forced her into another climax.

  And it was glorious.

  Again she told herself she did not care if she remained his prisoner forever, did not care if he passed her around to friends and acquaintances, to be bound and beaten and fucked endlessly. What a sensuous, hedonistic life that would be!

  But the sexual haze retreated as he finished, and as they set her down. She tried to comfort her aching, burning bottom, but this drew nothing but laughter as her arms were lifted behind her and attached to the ring set in the back of her collar, and she was led to a new frame she’d not seen before. For some reason it reminded her of the sharply angled roof to a well or doghouse, sitting on a pair of blocks. It was roughly waist high, and Richardson and one of his guests lifted her up on top, forcing her to straddle the thing, spreading her legs wide.

  The straps fastened her legs to each side at thigh and ankle, and then while one of the men bound her hair in a tail the other fed two narrow wires from the wall in front of the frame to the rings in her nipples. She grunted, leaning forward, thrusting her chest up in an attempt to ease the pain. A moment later her ponytail was pulled, arching her head and shoulders back.

  The thin wedge at the top of the frame pressed into her pussy lips, forcing them apart, and leaning forward to ease the pull on her breasts dropped all her weight directly on her sensitive pink flesh. She whimpered softly, easing a little way back, but this stretched her nipples even more painfully.

  ‘Have a little rest now, Gwendolyn,’ Richardson said, clearly amused. ‘We’ll get back to you.’

  At first, though the pressure between her legs was heavy, the pain was quite tolerable. However, every minute her weight rested on the delicate flesh of her mons the pain grew worse, a powerful throbbing which spread throughout her groin and up into her abdomen. It grew and grew until it became unbearable, and she found herself sobbing and moaning, trying to roll from side to side or back or forth to somehow lift herself free from the terrible pressure.

  But it was hopeless. She could do nothing but sit there straddling the awful frame, crying with anguish and frustration.

  It was much worse than when she was hung by the elderly Japanese man – although that was bad enough – for the rope was flexible and moulded to her body, whereas the wood was immoveable and pressed directly against her pussy. It was such a simple device, and yet so horrible, something clearly made with the female body in mind, and she felt a black rage at the thought of Richardson placing her upon it, giving her such terrible anguish simply for his amusement and the amusement of his pathetic sycophants.

  And when she considered that the whole idea was her stepfather’s that rage grew even more intense. She thought of him lounging back comfortably in his leather armchair at the club sipping his aperitif as he read the paper, wearing that smug expression – the one that always made her want to slap him.

  And here she was, tears spilling from her eyes. And if he knew would he be… no, she could not even contemplate that. And yet she could not keep the awful thought from seeping into her tormented mind: would he be… turned on?

  Gwen shook her head, trying to rid herself of the ghoulish thought, more salty tears meandering down her red cheeks as she did.

  After an interminable time Richardson returned alone, smiling at her angst. But he did release her and let her lay in the cage to recover, wrists bound behind her back, planning violent retribution
on him and her stepfather.

  She dozed a little, having no idea what time it was.

  He left her there for an indeterminate time, then returned and made her crawl back to the main front room for no apparent reason; he had her stand against a pillar as he read the newspaper, her wrists shackled to the wall above her head as she sagged weakly. And then she realised angrily that it was another ploy to prevent her getting too much rest.

  Once he had read all he wanted of the newspaper he took her to the bathroom and watched quietly while she showered and dried herself, and she savoured the opportunity to let the steaming water and fragrant shower gel soothe her aching limbs. Once dried he led her, crawling on all fours, to his large bed and handcuffed her wrists together to a ring set high in one of the four posts that supported the canopy. He pushed a gag into her mouth and then prepared for bed.

  If he had seen the sparkle of anticipation in her eyes he would have been considerably less relaxed and would not have fallen asleep as easily as he did. Gwen stood as still as possible, watching him in the darkness, waiting, heart pounding every time she thought about taking the key from her mouth, sure it was a trap; that somehow he knew all about her plans and was just laying in wait for her.

  Hours passed, and still she did not dare move. Then finally she raised a foot and placed it carefully on the frame of the bed. Her hands tightened on the post as she slowly and gently raised herself up. She held still, staring at his motionless shape, listening to his even breathing, then arched to inch her mouth close to her open hand. She took the key carefully in her fingers, worked it into the lock, and with a soft click her pulse raced and the handcuffs parted.

  She stepped down very slowly and then dropped to her knees, listening to his breathing. When there was no change she crawled around to the chair where he had left his trousers. She reached into one pocket and her fingers closed around the thick chain of keys he always carried, making sure every key was clamped tightly in the palm of her hand so they would not jangle as she drew them forth. She started to move away, then hesitated, withdrew his wallet and removed all the bills before replacing it.