CHAPTER 1 – RITA’S
silently and motionless, watching Craig, her master for the previous week fill out
a report documenting her performance. The oversize ball that was occupying her mouth;
it being the business end of the harness ball-gag he had crammed into her ensured
her silence. After forcibly getting the ball into her straining mouth, he had pulled
the straps very tightly around her head. They were tight enough that she was sure
they would give her a headache if they remained on for much longer. That was almost
a certainty considering he planned to return her to Spellbook Slave Rentals after
he completed the report card, and he seemed to be writing quite a bit so it was
doubtful that he would finish any time soon. Not that she was going anywhere.
Spellbook Slave Rentals was a division of Spellbook Slaves & Games. SS&G
was one of the leading slave stores located in Eastlake, Oklahoma. It was owned
by Mike West, a licensed slave trader who had been one of the first to see the business
opportunities offered by the passage of the White Slave Act of 2000 (WSA2000), and
had jumped into the business as soon as female slavery became legal in the U.S.
The slave rental aspect was the new version of prostitution, and while it was reasonably
profitable for Mike, single-handedly, Rita was giving his stable a bad reputation.
Rita was gorgeous, so killing her or turning her into a torture slave seemed like
a waste of an expensive asset. As a last-ditch effort to salvage his investment,
Mike turned Rita over to Craig for additional training in being a good slave. It
had been a painful learning experience for her, but it appeared to have been worthwhile.
She shrugged her shoulders, trying to ease the cramp in her shoulder blade.
The cramp came from the fact that her elbows were touching behind her back, as were
her wrists, each held tightly together by heavy leather cuffs that were padlocked
closed. She had slightly more freedom with her feet, as they had about a foot of
chain between the cuffs on her ankles. Not that that mattered tremendously, he had
ordered her to stand still and she was not in the mood to prompt a repeat of the
recent obedience-assistance method he had demonstrated on her. Obedience-assistance,
my ass. A whipping is a whipping no matter what it’s called. As that thought
passed through her mind, she tried to rub her ass to sooth the burn that remained
as a reminder of the terrible session she had endured earlier in the week.
He had bound her, naked of course, onto an L-shaped contraption about three
feet in height. It was made from a heavy metal pipe that extended vertically from
the center of a four-foot square platform. That pipe was topped by a small horizontal
platform about three inches by one foot, which was lightly padded and covered in
Her feet had been spread to a bit more than shoulder width, then secured
to the edges of the platform she was standing on. He forced her to bend over at
the waist while keeping her legs straight. The horizontal platform had been adjusted
to her waist’s height. The vertical pipe was placed directly between her breasts,
with the horizontal placed lengthwise so that it began between her breasts, and
extended backwards to end just before reaching her hips. That placement prevented
her from bending her legs. Her wrists were locked to the base of the vertical post,
directly below her breasts. Since her feet were pulled forward, almost halfway to
the vertical post, it had the effect of forcing her ass to jut out to the rear,
leaving her ass, pussy and legs totally exposed. A strap connected to the platform
under her breasts came up across the back of her neck then back to where it started.
Once tightened, it prevented her from sliding forward and also held her tightly
in the bent over position.
She had spent the next hour or two screaming and writhing, and when she wasn’t
screaming she was counting. She was counting out loud each one of the whip strokes
he was laying onto her exposed flesh. Then there was the begging. She had begun
to learn how to beg in earnest by the end of that session. She was actually getting
good at it. All because of six little words.
He had ordered her to give him a blowjob. Although she complied, albeit reluctantly,
he hadn’t been satisfied with it. Oh, he had come, and he made her swallow every
speck of it, then lick his cock clean, but he berated her, telling her it had been
a terrible performance. As a result, he had forced her to “practice” on a large
dildo almost continuously for the rest of the afternoon. He had allowed her short
breaks, but by the end of the afternoon, her mouth and jaw ached from sucking on
the dildo furiously. She was sucking furiously because of the gauges attached to
the dildo with which he could tell how much pressure her lips were exerting on it
and the amount of suction she was creating. He set the controls and if she fell
below the amount he had set, she received terrible shocks in her pussy until she
got the gauge back to where he required it. He had been raising the requirements
all afternoon. Late in the day he stopped her and told her to do him again. That
was when she got into trouble. All she said was, “Please let me rest a minute.”
He grabbed a handful of her long, luxurious red hair, pulled her to her feet
with it and dragged her to the L-bar thing where he secured her. After she was properly
secured, he disappeared for a minute before returning with a riding crop in his
hand. “So you want to rest for a minute? How barbaric of me not to have thought
of it, that you might want to rest.” She wasn’t positive, but she didn’t think he
was being completely truthful. “You may rest for as long as you wish, while I suffer
from need of your services.”
She silently shuddered. Oh no….this doesn’t sound good at all.