Chapter 13
They took the elevator down to the third level. It was cooler down here and she could hear the thrumming of big machines in some of the rooms they passed. The doors were labeled for maintenance, furnace, HVAC, and a huge freezer. There were also some huge vats of water with pumps and filters running. They looked like huge aquariums, as there was some sand and plants in them. She didn't see any fish, but she assumed the tanks were used to keep live lobsters for the special banquets they held upstairs. The tanks were big enough to swim in.
Mr. Smith turned into a room about in the middle of the building. There were only a couple more rooms further down and then the hall they were in opened up into a big space. It was dark but she saw some equipment scattered around the darkened space.
The darkness seemed to draw her to it, calling to her. It was such a brief feeling, then Mr. Smith had unlocked the door and tugged her out of the open hallway. She wasn't sure that she had felt it. She shook her head. She didn't believe in such nonsense and superstition. It was just her excitement affecting her. And being close to Mr. Smith.
The training room was Spartan but spacious. Two large screens, a locked cabinet, and an apparatus made from steel tubing, mostly. There were some rings set into the floor and some wires hanging from the ceiling with hooks on them. The sight of them made her shiver in anticipation. There were wires running from the cabinet to the apparatus.
That ominous frame was what drew her attention. It was fashioned from tubular steel and was set firmly into the floor. The body of the frame was a single tube in an 'L' shape about two feet tall and one foot long across the base. From the top of the 'L' shape a centered crossbar extended about a foot to each side, like a 'T'. A post from the center of the base was embedded firmly into the cement of the floor. There were two protrusions sticking up at different angles from the top of the base, angled slightly towards each other. Alex had an ominous feeling where those were supposed to go.
Below the base, attached to the base were two extensions pointing forward and out. They reminded her of the stirrups in the OB-GYN office. All of the parts were adjustable, polished and gleaming in the bright spot lights focused on it.
"How do you like the chair?" he asked.
He called it a 'chair.' Now she knew why those knobby things had filled her with dread. No, not dread. Uneasy anticipation.
"It looks uncomfortable, Sir."
"HA!" he burst out, as if that was the least of his concerns. When she thought about, she supposed it was. It pleased her that he wasn't concerned with her comfort, in a perverse way. She wanted to experience, to feel to the fullest whatever it was he had prepared for her.
Unsnapping her leash, he directed her over to an open area. He opened the cabinet and she could see an assortment of electrical equipment. He pushed a button and music flooded the room. Music with a strong seductive beat, music that went straight to her pussy and tickled her. It was the same music that she had heard on the videos. The videos with the girls dancing. Beautiful, sensuous dancing.
He watched her as she moved to the music. Her programming was already taking effect and she didn't know it. Her moves were much improved from just a month ago. He found it hard to believe that that awkward housewife was the same person as the sexy vixen moving in front of him now.
After a while he moved behind her and let her feel his arousal. Soon he would satisfy his lusts, but first she had to be his and his alone. He moved his hands to the top button on her blouse. It came undone.
He could feel her shudder as the cool air brushed across the slight opening in the blouse. He moved his hands to the second button and her hands interrupted his. Turning to face him she slowly and sexily unbuttoned the entire blouse. Teasing him a little, she turned away and bared one shoulder, pulling the blouse off that one side, laughing as she looked back over her shoulder at him.
Damon smiled at her playfulness, encouraging her. Soon she bared the other shoulder and turned to face him. She was holding the blouse to her chest, but not to hide from him. She was teasing him with the infuriatingly slow descent of her hands.
One hard nipple popped into sight and for a long agonizing moment stood alone. It was joined by its twin eventually and the blouse fluttered to the cold concrete.
If anything, the sensuality of her movements increased as she danced topless. She caressed her body without touching it, teasing both of them with the promise of pleasure withheld. Her hips moved on their own accord, the short skirt flipping up, flashing her charms at him.
Damon looked pointedly at her skirt. She wasn't moving too slowly, he was becoming impatient, needing to see her nakedness. Her fingers fumbled from excitement as she worked with the closing button. She finally opened it and slid the zipper down.
She made no pretext of teasing him this time. She had dreamed of this moment from the first time she had seen the videos. She had wanted to dance naked for him, to arouse him, to please him. She hadn't been conscious of her longings, but now she knew. This was what she wanted.
Damon let her dance and was pleased. He took a black silk cord from his pocket, smooth, soft and very strong and handed it to the writhing girl. The four foot length wasn't short, but wasn't overly long. It was the final piece of the dance.
Alex accepted the cord without breaking her movements. The cord hung motionless, trailing on the cold floor. Then it moved with her, to her, caressing her as if it had a life of its own. First it wrapped itself around her left leg, curling slowly from the thigh down to her ankle. She stopped momentarily, as if surprised at its soft embrace. Then, in a trance, she pulled the end in her hand upwards, letting the length of the cord rub against her aroused center.
She repeated the move with the right leg and then pulled it up so that it rubbed her inflamed clit. She was moaning and sweating now, fully aroused. She was aware Mr. Smith was in the room, but she was dancing for the love of the dance now, totally immersed in the sensuality of her body.
The cord found its way between her thighs, held by one hand in front and another behind her body. Back and forth it sang, making music like a bow on a violin. Faster and faster, grunting with the effort.
The music stopped. She hung there, on the edge.
"Stop!"
The command came like a slap in the face. Wild-eyed she looked up at the man who controlled her, manipulated her. Her breathing ragged, her senses dulled for everything but the fulfillment not achieved. Aching, she turned to him, her controller, moving to him as he directed her.
Damon took the silken cord from the trembling figure and drew her hands behind her back. Starting with her wrists, he bound them tightly, winding the cord up higher and higher on her forearms, pulling them together until her elbows touched. The girl groaned but did not complain. The pain kept her on the edge and, as she had sought pleasure, she now embraced the pain she was feeling.
It wasn't enough to push her over, however, though he would have allowed it without punishing her. This time, at least. He wanted her to experience as much pleasure as possible during this phase. In fact, he wanted to drive her crazy with lust. From this moment on, his little project would never be without some sort of insidious stimulus. In a short time, she would be putty in his hands. Totally.
Damon led her over to the apparatus and backed her up to the center bar, her legs straddling the base. He lifted her bound arms over the crossbar at her back and urged her to sit down, gently pressing on her shoulders. She knew without looking where the knobs were aimed and, in her present condition, was looking forward to them invading her. Perhaps they would provide her with the relief she so desperately sought.
She screamed as they impaled her, front and rear. They weren't long but they were much thicker than Harold was. Unbelievably, he was still all she had to compare anything to, although she had seen the pictures of those beautiful men. And she had felt the hugeness of Mr. Smith. Alex moved her hips back and forth, forcing the thick knobs to touch every part of her throbbing tissues. She came again and then again, finally slowing in her frantic motions.
The crossbar lay comfortably between her upper arms and her back. Well, almost comfortably, but Alex relished the awkwardness of it. It kept her sitting very upright and Mr. Smith seemed fascinated with the effects this position had on her breasts, making them rise and protrude. She had done something similar with Cathy, her best friend from high school. They were vamping at a sleep-over, pretending to be sexy models or something. Then, she was exploring all the aspects of her newly developed boobies, and the feelings she had then were nothing compared with those that were coursing though her body now.
Her legs fit naturally into the stirrups below the chair, her knees splayed outward. Thick leather straps just below the knee and again around the ankle kept them firmly in place. The chair was actually much more comfortable than she had imagined when she first saw it, but then, she was hornier now than then.
Damon moved to the cabinet and pushed a button. The training chair was already programmed. Four sessions in it and she would be a mindless automaton, seeking pleasure, pain or oblivion, at his command. He watched for a while then left the room as the deeply imbedded vibrating and throbbing probes sent the first shocks through her lower body. In later sessions he would add the electrodes for her nipples, navel, toes and tongue.
The shocks today would build through pleasurable levels to painful ones, increasing in strength until she lost consciousness. When the chair sensed her collapse, the program would pause automatically as she recovered, then start in again at a lower, more tolerable level. It would build again, forcing her to accept greater and greater stimuli, until that line between pain and pleasure were forever blurred in her mind.
The visual and audio cues were designed to complement the physical feelings of vibration and electrical shock. He had spent thousands of dollars developing this training machine and the programming for it. It had paid for itself many times over. He used it not just to train his pets, but practically every dancer that came through the club spent time on it. After being trained, there was never any problem getting them to do those lucrative private parties.
Lots of dancers wouldn't do the private gigs. Word got around. It wasn't all uncommon at these orgies that the dancer would be 'accidentally' snuffed in the drug-induced debauchery, but more often they would be permanently scarred or disfigured, but dancers were easily replaced.
Pets were another matter. They were not only the most beautiful women, they fed his need for total control. They would be pampered, coddled, used, and abused, at his beck and call, totally subservient. When he was sated, tiring of them, he would share them, with only a select few at first, then with any who could pay the price. It was a very high price, as his pets were always the best of the best. There were many who would willingly pay the price, however, and the pets would rush to do his bidding, begging for more. When they were of no more use to him than a common dancer, he would put them down, gently and with care, with the respect they deserved for having served him, as a good master should.
Damon's plans for this pet were a little different, though. He needed her total subservience. It was just his perverse nature and mostly greed that made him want to get as much out of her as he could, while he could.
Watching her in the chair, he resisted the nagging little tug he felt at his heart as he thought of the exuberant and free spirit she offered so willingly to him. He stamped out the faint nudge that said this one was special. That she was the one.
In a rage, Damon envisioned Elizabeth Farnsworth's wrinkled cunt hanging over his face, her piss running into his eyes and mouth. He shoved any thoughts of reprieve for the girl in the chair out of his mind. Pets were replaceable and cheap. He had a deadline approaching and five million dollars to make. It was her fucking tough luck she was in his way. He had to win, whatever the cost.
Alex was lost in a sea of raging emotions. She was cleaning the bar in the afternoon, naked, after her first training session. Everything she touched, saw, heard or smelled reminded her of a hard cock or a steamy cunt. She had cravings she had never felt before. She wanted to lick a woman and suck up her juices. She wanted a cock up her ass. Not just any cock. A big, hard one.
She had had trouble getting out of the bathroom. Urinating tickled her clit. Shitting was so pleasurable she screamed in orgasm. The bidet made her shudder several times over before Alvin had found her, her genitals looking like wrinkled prunes.
She had seen the dance for the first time. The whole dance. She knew what he wanted, now. It didn't surprise her that it was what she wanted, too. With her whole being, it was what she desperately wanted.
The girls in the tapes had danced. Oh, they had danced. Moving, touching, flirting, their clothing dissolving into the darkness. They moved in a brilliance of light, on a stage, a man on a stool in the shadows, watching. Not a man. Their master.
They danced for him. Only for him. She could hear the shouts, the whistles of the others, but there was only one man for whom they danced. The shoulders would bare, then the beautiful breasts. The shouting would increase as the dress would tease its way over the grinding hips. Then the wisp of lace, so fragile, so futile in its attempts to cover or protect. Then that, too, was ripped away and the girl stood naked. Proud. Excited.
The girls would dance in their hosiery and their heels, the only thing left from their apparel would be a black cord. Her cord. She knew it was the same one. She could sense it, feel their sensuality flooding through her as it bound her arms. She watched as they let the cord touch them, caress them, binding it around their breasts, spanking the ends teasingly on their throbbing nipples. Then winding it around their bodies, twining it in their hair, teasing the master, begging him, seducing him. The cord would wrap around their necks, sensuously sliding, tightening, frightening in its grip, willing to give even this to their master, their very breath, then slowly relaxing, shuddering in climax the cord would sink, lower and lower, touching the private area, the master's garden.
At a sign from the master, the dancer would move to the shadows, swaying, pleading for his touch. The hands would move, touching, caressing, reassuring the girl. The cord would once again wind around her body, this time at the control of the master. Binding her wrists behind the back, elbows touching. It was what he wanted. His soft lips on her nipples, possessing her soul, then urging her back to the stage.
Looking back at the master, the dancer would dance once more, seeking his permission. She needed release and on the floor was a pillar of flesh, an erection, a tool for her to use. For her master. Lower her hips would sway, lower and lower, balancing on her high heels until she would scream, impaling herself completely on the phallic organ. Looking always at the man in the shadows. Seeking to do his pleasure.
Another man, then another would join her on stage, filling her cunt, fulfilling her needs as she looked at the man in the shadows. She was pleasing him, dancing for him, fucking for him. Man after man, in her cunt, in her ass, in her mouth. Alex was jealous of the dancers who could take a man between their breasts, tittie fucking them. She felt inadequate, somehow, incomplete.
When the dance was done, the master would be gone. The shadows dark, the stool empty. The lights faded and the dancers slept in a pool of fluids, sated.
Over and over the videos had run that day. Over and over the probes had driven her slowly insane, filling her with strange desires and cravings.
It was hard work cleaning the bar. When she didn't do it right, Mr. Smith or Alvin would lean her over a table and whip her. Never in the same place, so she never knew where she would be whipped. The lashes across her bare feet hurt as she limped back to the bar. Mr. Smith had done those. Strange, the lashes from Alvin didn't hurt as much. But he was very eager to punish her until finally Mr. Smith was able to leave, knowing Alvin would do a good job whipping her.
Alvin breathed a deep sigh of relief when Mr. D finally left. Miss Alex was in bad shape, dazed and totally pliable. Those blows the bastard had landed on her feet hadn't fazed her loyalty to him one bit, but they would hurt for days.
He knew the program she was going through and had participated in it before with others, dancers mostly. Never at this level, and never with one of Mr. D's pets, but since the business meeting, Mr. D had been different with him. Friendly, almost, and that scared the shit out of him. That man was an explosively dangerous mix of psychotic and intelligence. But keeping close to him meant keeping close to Alex and right now, he was all the friends she had.
Alex presented herself to Alvin, the bar sparkling. He inspected it carefully. He would punish her for any infraction. He had to, if he wanted to keep Mr. D from doing it. Finding none, he leaned her against the bar and whipped the backs of her thighs anyway, as instructed. Not surprisingly, she accepted the beating and didn't complain.
He knew Mr. D was in his office. "Go down and clean the apartment."
"The whole floor, Mr. Alvin?" she asked him innocently.
Something in her question struck her as not quite so innocent.
"Of course, Miss Alex."
The look she flashed at him for the barest of instances made him wonder what she was doing, but if was obviously the answer she had wanted. He hoped she wouldn't get them both killed.
Alex went downstairs and immediately got out the sweeper and the feather duster. The apartment was still pretty clean from the last time she was down here. Mr. D came down once and slapped her tits, making her ears ring. She was beginning to like the pain when he gave it to her and she didn't mind.
Then Alvin came down and would give her more reasonable, if unwarranted punishments. Keeping an eye on the clock, she timed his visits. As soon as he had left for the third time, she made a bee line for the storage room.
It hadn't changed since she had been in here with Mr. Smith. Going directly to the boxes she rifled through them and pulled one item from each of them. It only took her two minutes and another two to secrete the items where she could get at them without raising suspicion.
Alvin came back down and she was sitting on a chair playing with her pussy, fingering herself towards what appeared to be a tremendous climax. That is, until he saw her eyes watching him. She was acting.
He stormed over to her, and taking his lead from the nod on her head threw her against the buffet table against the wall. He saw her hand snake out and grab something behind the center piece, but only because he was watching for it. Playing his part, he beat her severely, until she fell to the ground, grabbing his feet and kissing them, begging for mercy.
Her last words, as she collapsed were "Why? Tell me why?" She wasn't acting.
Mr. D met him as he came off the elevator. With a nod, he simply said, "Good work." As Alex and Alvin had suspected, he had been watching, or at least listening. He stood there as the doors closed, watching Mr. D. He was afraid to move. Whatever it was Miss Alex had shoved inside the instep of his shoe was slipping out.
Bending down and retying his shoe, he palmed the stack of plastic cards in his big hands and went to the front door. He called down to the apartment and told Mr. D he was going home, and what time did he want him in the morning? Getting an early hour, he said 'Good Night' and left.
Damon nudged the faintly striped figure on the floor with his foot. He had watched every encounter between the two and was pleased. The black man was almost as ruthless as he, but the marks would fade in a few hours. Very skillful, almost as good as himself.
He was satisfied that Alvin could take over this part of the training, the constant breaking down of self-esteem and infliction of pain for no reason. She would learn to accept it, expect it, crave it. But with Alvin here, that would mean he would have his afternoons free for the next three days to do his own investigations on the source of those damn bugs. Well, not the source. But who was listening. And who had planted them. With Alvin cleared, he was fresh out of suspects.
Leaving Alex on the floor, he remembered something he had meant to do earlier. Since she was going to have free rein of the club and the apartment for the next few days he would need to lock that storage room. He took a key out of his pocket and went to the room at the end of the hall. On an impulse he opened the door and peeked inside.
Everything was as it should be. He shook his head. He really shouldn't keep that stuff. Oh, he was probably safe, as the pets had never been reported as missing or shown up dead. It was in here that he kept the memories of them. These were the mementos of their time together, as a boy with a dog might keep a treasured photo of the two together at the beach. Or the nametag on the collar. Well, he had his videos and his pictures. And in here, in the boxes he had their papers, their identities that they had surrendered to him. That he had taken from them. They were his now. No one knew those names but him. He was the only one who cared about them. Those were his pets, his, in those boxes.
He stepped back out and locked the room. He pocketed the key.