Chapter 14
Alex soon realized that Mr. Smith had not been idle while she was working in the bar upstairs. It was, if she had been able to admit it, quite clever. Diabolically clever. It was, she decided, driving her insane. Sweetly and pleasurably insane.
She watched the big armature stop at the end of its long arc, then slowly gather speed. Gritting her teeth to keep from screaming again, Alex watched the pendulum sweep towards her crotch, then begin to rise just as it was about to touch her at the bottom of the arc and lift away, slowly decelerating.
Alex had woken from the beating she had forced Alvin to give her to the dripping of cold water on her heated and inflamed skin. Mr. Smith was standing above her holding an ice cube. The melting icy drips were creating small shock waves within her, striking with as much effect as the crop had earlier.
Immediately she had rolled over on her knees, head to the ground and groveled, begging, pleading for mercy. He had laughed at her pleading and nudged a bowl at her. It was slop, but she was starving. She placed her hands behind her back and bowed to the bowl. As daintily and lady-like as she could, she ate the contents. It was watery and weak. Near starvation was one of the keys to a successful brainwashing. He held life and death in his hands, not just pain and pleasure.
She tried to crawl, but collapsed. Weeping from her inadequacies, she used her arms to crawl into his bedroom. He had pushed her a little too hard the first day, anxious to break her and she wasn't done yet. He waited for her by the cage door, patient but heartless while she used the bathroom and crawled to his feet.
He helped her put on the latex panties and the latex bra. She watched as he had unplugged them from the charging unit next to his bed. She was to make sure they were charging when she wasn't wearing them, he told her.
Then he let her lie down and he shackled her to the sleeping mat. Looking up at him and then past him, she saw something out of an Edger Allen Poe story. Only no big blade. Just a pendulum.
At the moment, she was wishing it was a blade. Something to put her out of the torture. Mr. Smith had taped one of the sensors to the end of the armature. As it swung towards her, the shocks and vibrations in her cunt, ass and tits would strengthen. As it moved away, they would weaken and then stop. Then start again. And again. And again. With her last sane thought, she looked to the bottom of the shelf and promised them that she would help them.
She wasn't sure if she slept, but morning came. Finally. Mr. Smith released her and let her use the bathroom. Then he took her into the kitchen and, while he ate a breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast and coffee, she sipped the water that was in her bowl. She didn't complain.
Finishing his meal he tossed her a crumb of toast. She snatched in mid-air and kissed his hand. He seemed pleased with himself and she cried from happiness that he was pleased. Her emotions were totally skewed, as intended.
Again, they took the elevator to the third level and went to the room. Alex heard the voices coming from the dark space again. They were stronger this time. She shook her head. She was going crazy.
She danced for him. He made her dress first, then take the clothes off. She didn't mind. She saw his eyes looking at her. He wanted her. She wanted him to want her and moved as lewdly and wantonly as she could. She caught the teasing little smiles he gave her and she floated in ecstasy.
He bound her again with her black cord. She rubbed her breasts on his chest and he stopped to appreciate their firmness. She mewled and purred to him. Gently he lowered her into the chair. The probes that invaded her were larger today, thicker and longer and filled her uncomfortably.
Mr. Smith retrieved a small stainless steel bowl and a towel from the cabinet. He laid the towel over her leg. In a small jar, he whisked a frothy foam with a stiff brush. He took an ivory handled razor from his pocket. It was an expensive tool, extremely sharp, just like Daddy's straight razor.
Daddy had had a strop hanging out on the back porch. Alex would love to watch him caress the gleaming blade up and down the thick leather strap, the hiss of the blade the only sound in the cool morning air. With a foamy grin at his favorite daughter, he would start the process of scraping the follicles from his face.
Just like Mr. Smith was scraping her bare. She fought against her climax hard, trying to remain still as the razor caressed her mound, cleaning, baring her. She screamed, the tensions and feelings culminating in an orgasm approaching the best ever. Drained, she watched him finish, skillfully cleaning her, leaving only a narrow wedge of pubic hair, just a former hint of her womanhood. She hadn't been a hairy woman down there, but now she felt salacious, free and delightfully wicked.
When Mr. Smith lowered his head to her privates, she squealed her joy, over and over. Cunt-licking was every bit as wonderful as she had imagined. Again and again he brought her up to and over the edge of sanity, pushing her harder and harder into the fathomless abyss of mindless pleasure. He was deliberately cruel in his manipulation of her, teasing when she needed to be fulfilled and when she craved more stimulation and then tonguing her relentlessly as she fought for her breath. Finally, she relinquished her body to him and was swept away into oblivion.
Sensing her complete surrender to his tongue, Damon's eyes coldly assessed the convulsing figure. She was easier to control now, easier than he had expected, given her earlier surprising strength and resilience. No matter, she would still get the full training, if somewhat accelerated. He still had to try to make some profit from this investment, and, if all went according to plan, she would have a rather short profitable period. And he needed to slake his desires, too. His needs were building.
Just before he turned on the chair for the day's programming, he attached electrodes to her clitoris and her nipples. He pushed the button and dimmed the lights. She would be alone with her nightmares for the next four hours.
Alex fought to keep sane. She was tired and the experience of being shaved had thrilled her beyond anything she had imagined. And he had touched her. It was the first sexual touch her had given her. Her heart was singing while her body craved for more and more and was demanding, insistent. She fought the darkness for a few minutes. She had to remember.
Today there were photos. She didn't recognize all of them, but some of the models now had names. From the photos on the driver's licenses she had taken from the storage area. It was now locked, but she had been in time. She had studied the small plastic cards in secret, memorizing the names. She recognized all of them. Now, as they flashed on the screens, happy, gay and beautiful, she talked to them.
She heard their voices, dubbed over the photos that showed them being whipped or fucked with dildos by a big leather-clad woman, begging for more and more. She knew how they felt. They just wanted to please their master.
Alex wondered if he was their master yet, when the pictures were taken. They didn't use that word, or at least not all of them. Maybe some of them held out, maybe some-- Ahhh!
The electrodes on her clit and nipples, sensing her lack of a proper and full response to the other stimuli, got her attention back. The machine, designed to break any and all resistance, whipsawed the bound girl between agony and ecstasy for the rest of the morning. It was easier not to fight the machine and Alex surrendered to the demands made of her body and spasmed her way to oblivion.
Mr. D took her up to the bar when she was done and left Alvin in charge of his project, saying he would be back by 5:00. Alvin knew the routine. But he broke it. As soon as the door closed he curled Miss Alex around his feet in the small security room and told her to sleep. She was out before he stood up.
He had seen the devastating results of the same type of methods of brainwashing that had been used on veterans captured in 'Nam. He had been luckier. In Africa, they just killed you, eventually.
Miss Alex was experiencing sleep deprivation coupled with starvation, beatings, loss of identity and humiliation. He knew about that machine in the basement and had no doubt it was many more times more effective at 're-educating' when the victim was totally helpless to resist any suggestion or demand. He was worried about this innocent little farm girl at his feet.
Alvin had gone home last night and spread out the worn and expired driver's licenses on his kitchen table. He had known three of them in his time at the club. Another he had known in another life. A knife went through his heart. Again. He thought he was over her by now. It had been almost ten years. Ten years since...
Miss Alex had given these to him. Why? She had risked, had begged for a severe beating to pass them to him unobserved. Why? That was the question she had asked. Why? Why?
He was asleep when it hit him. Why, indeed? Why did Mr. D have them and not the girls? Why, unless they didn't need them anymore?
What the Hell had Miss Alex found?
Alex woke up screaming, in another part of the bar, a glass of juice next to her on the floor. Alvin was standing above her, bellowing at her to clean up that juice. The whip that had woken her slashed down once more, landing solidly on the floor by her hand. He missed her completely. Throwing him a quick smile, she gulped down the juice. She could taste the raw eggs mixed in it. Not her favorite, but it was nourishing and full of proteins and vitamins.
Alvin beat her soundly after she had finished the drink, making her body look as if she had been thrashed regularly all afternoon long. She even rolled over on her back to let him have easy access to the front of her naked body. She held her hands by her side, defenseless. Their eyes met and his hand with the whip faltered. She willed him to continue with her eyes. They both knew the risks he had taken by letting her sleep and feeding her. He didn't look away as he lashed her repeatedly.
She glanced down at his crotch as he stood. Interesting, she thought to herself. He enjoys it, but not this way. His consternation touched her and she realized she had made the right decision. The other pets would be safe with him.
That night after the watery gruel, the pendulum swung and Alex screamed until she was hoarse. She looked at the shelf of names and they laughed at her courage.
Damon opened the soundproofed door to his pet's room to a nicely deranged cunt. He didn't like to hear them screaming, so he took the risk of not bugging this tiny room. There was little he would learn in here anyway that he didn't already know.
Today she would start the next phase. He would begin to ask her to sign the papers giving him control over her. Up until now all of his pets but one had given him ownership by the end of the third day. The pet that had hesitated had come screaming to him on the fourth. He had made her pay dearly for that delay.
After a breakfast of water and another tossed scrap of toast, Damon led Alex back downstairs.
It was a repeat of the prior day. She dressed, she danced, she stripped. He bound her and tied her to her chair.
"Pet, you know I want to this to be special between us. I want to make this relationship permanent, to keep forever what we have."
"Sir, I'd like that, too, but I'm married. I can't give myself to you until I am free from my marriage vows, Sir."
"Don't be ridiculous, Pet. No one takes those vows seriously anymore. And I'm not asking you to marry me. Not yet, anyway," he added. Some cunts needed the carrot, some the stick. He tossed out a carrot.
"But, Sir, if I don't take my marriage vows seriously, how will you ever trust me to take my commitment to you seriously?"
"Pet, I don't want to be your husband. I want to be your Master."
"M- master?"
"Yes. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To call me 'Master'?"
"Oh, yes, Sir! With all my heart, Sir!"
"Then sign the papers, Pet. Then you could call me 'Master'."
Alex looked at the top page. They were the same documents as the ones in the boxes. She wouldn't just be giving up her freedom. He was taking, demanding her whole life, even her name. She wept bitterly and Damon knew he would have to work on her more, to soften her up. Oh, well, it had been worth a shot.
As if forgiving her for her intransigence, Damon leaned toward the bound figure and kissed her forehead softly. He dried her tears with his fingers and whispered in her ear.
"That's OK, Pet. Maybe later."
He walked over to the cabinet and took out a small leather packet. He always enjoyed this part. He had always considered this the beginning. From here on, there was no backing out. Smiling contentedly, he went back to the waiting girl.
He laid the leather packet on her thigh and unrolled it slowly. He could sense the dread as the gleaming needles, hooks, blades and pliers were gradually revealed. He took a sharp blade and drew it softly across her breasts. Even that light touch left a bright red line in its wake, occasionally spotted with a droplet of blood. He licked the droplets and kissed Alex on the mouth. She eagerly accepted his tongue, tasting the sharpness of her own blood. She sucked hungrily for more and he broke away, laughing cynically.
He took out a large needle and she whimpered in excitement. She had no fear. She didn't trust this man, but she had given him control over her. It was an odd disconnect when she had time to think about it, but she was finding she was less able to focus lately. It seemed that her senses were being assaulted constantly, even in her dreams, or was she dreaming now? She was becoming less sure, able only to give into to the constant demands of her body. For pleasure, for pain, for anything this man would take from her.
Damon traced the needle over the smooth surfaces of her breasts. They weren't as large as he preferred, and, if he had intended to keep this one for long, would have had her fixed already. Tittie fucking was such a selfish release. He almost preferred it to real fucking. But still, her tits were amazing in their firmness and perfection. The point of the needle rested against the nipple and he pushed gently.
A low sound escaped from the girl. Damon let loose of the needle and it hung there, pointing cockeyed at the ceiling, wavering with each breath she took. Another needle joined the first, just slightly inserted through the first layers of skin. He didn't want to do deep tissue damage. At least, not yet.
When one breast looked like a porcupine, he started on the other. The girl's eyes were glazed, but never wavering from watching each and every move he made. She didn't protest once.
With the last needle, a curved one used for stitching wounds, he lowered his aim. Placing the sharp tip against the dainty flap of skin, he force the needle through and left it protruding, an obscenely gleaming crescent on a field of human flesh. The pain from the penetration brought a mournful wail from the girl, but no protest.
Slowly and painfully he removed the needle, and while the wound was still fresh, he inserted a small stainless steel loop. The soldering iron had been preheating and it was a simple and practiced task to seal the loop permanently with silver solder. The smell of singed flesh filled his nostrils and he shifted his huge erection to a more comfortable position. The girl had climaxed from the pain and passed out. Good. Right on schedule. The belly-button ring was his first mark of ownership.
The girl still needed to be wooed, so he lowered his head to her cunt and licked gently until she regained consciousness. Had he left her alone, she would have fallen into a deep sleep, something he couldn't afford at this point. But she responded to the salacious demands of her body and, within the confines of her bondage, frantically urged her hips forward as much as she could to meet his wonderful tongue.
Today he teased her, bringing her to the edge, then twisting and wiggling one of the needles. At first the pain broke the flow of the feelings of pleasure from his tongue, but after a while they combined. The feelings were different, but complimentary in her mind. Both were from him, the man she wanted to please, the man she had to please.
She was screaming, begging for release, for more as he attached the electrodes. Today she got them all. Toes, nipples, clit, and tongue. He liked the one for the tongue. When it was stimulated, the airways clamped shut, making it impossible for her to breathe. He would control her very breathing from now on. She was almost his. He could feel it.
Before he left, he gave her one more chance to sign. She refused, politely, firmly, sadly. Fuck her. He pushed the button. She would not enjoy the session today. Today she would learn what real control was.
Alvin gave her a glass of juice with several eggs when she first came up that afternoon and again when she woke up several hours later. He didn't whip her today. Mr. D had given him instructions not to mark her at all. Verbal abuse only.
Alvin said several things after Mr. D had left, but under his breath and none directed at the soundly sleeping girl at his feet. He was worried about her. Her look today had been furtive. The sparkle was leaving her eyes.
He had made some careful inquiries about the missing girls. He was waiting for word back. He wished at times he could just go into a police station and get their attention. But he couldn't. So he had to work carefully, through a 'friend of a friend' and wait while these things went through the back channels. He hoped Alex would last. She had one more day to go.
Damon was persistent the next day, cajoling her, bullying and demanding that she sign. She refused. He shouted angrily at her and refused to let her call him 'Master'. It was only right, she was just a slut.
She danced for him, putting her whole being into pleasing him, but he refused to be mollified. Her energy at an end, she collapsed naked on the floor at the end of her dance. She had nothing left to give him.
Alex awoke to a new sensation. Her shoulders were on fire, her head hanging forward on her chest. She jerked up her head to see a girl in the screens. Hanging spread-eagled from the ceiling hooks, her feet bound by ropes tied to the rings on the floor, her feet off the floor. The girl's body was taut as a bowstring.
Alex saw Mr. Smith on the screen moving behind the girl, then in front, just as he came into her own vision. He was holding a glowing rod with a wooden handle. Alex had seen them on the farm, only bigger. Branding irons.
Without another word, Mr. Smith knelt in front of her and pressed the incandescent brand into her flesh, just above and to the right of her vaginal slit. The pain was so intense, so brutal she screamed, the pitch rising as the pain lingered, burning. Then the pain changed and she struggled, her brain refusing to accept how her body was reacting to that horrible, glorious pain. Copious fluids flowed from her center, her breasts swelled and ached, her nipples were painfully hard. Her cunt flowered, blossoming with the influx of blood. Her clitoris snapped to attention with an almost audible sound.
Alex was in agony. She was aroused as never before in her life. From the pain. She was ashamed. She was ashamed because she knew she loved it and would seek this out, regardless of the consequences.
The man she called Mr. Smith, the man she longed to call 'Master' didn't realize it, but he made his first critical error in judgment in the process of totally subjugating Mrs. Alisson Wilson. He didn't ask her to sign over her life after the branding. He was too angry with the stubborn bitch.
Mr. Smith whipped her lightly as she watched the girl in the videos get whipped. Her body was so sensitive that even the light blows he gave her felt like lightning bolts. She didn't notice that her skin was not marked or that Mr. Smith was using a suede strap, the soft leather caressing and slapping her skin more than cutting and biting. She developed a lovely rosy hue as the blood rushed to the stimulated surfaces. Alex climaxed once early on and never seemed to stop after that.
It took her a while to realize that the girl in the video was her.
Damon fitted the electrodes and probes from the chair to the hanging girl. She was still babbling, incoherent. Angry, he jabbed the button without trying a final time to get her to sign. It was his second error in judgment.
He sent Alvin down to clean her up and left for the day. He came back late that night and checked on his recalcitrant Pet before going to bed. She was screaming nonsense as the pendulum swung back and forth, as if she were conversing with someone. Satisfied she wouldn't get any sleep, he shut the sound-proofed door and went to bed. Tomorrow or the next day, signed or not, he had to take her. He couldn't wait any longer.
Alex heard the door shut through the tiny fraction of her mind that was still grasping reality. She hadn't heard it open, or she would have told the voices to be quiet. They had started calling her last night. She was one of them now, she had the ring. And now she had his mark. She belonged with them now.
Alex argued with the voices, she was married. She still had her wedding ring. She had committed herself to another man.
The voices laughed at her. What man? That worthless failure? He couldn't even satisfy you. If he was such a good man, where are your children? He left you for another woman. Marcy. Why waste yourself on him any longer? Give in to the Master. Let him own you. You can join us, belong.
On and on they would argue as the pendulum swung, the constant shocks to her erogenous zones now almost unfelt. Almost. She couldn't sleep with them, nor could she think. But she could talk to the voices.
This afternoon, to placate them, she had insisted that Alvin leave her alone in her cage for an hour. She had asked for a knife, or even a fork, but he had refused her, concern in his face and voice. She laughed madly at him. What did he think she was going to do, kill herself?
But he had left her alone and she had carved in the soft pine with her fingernail. She had left her mark. She wasn't owned nor had she had her first dance so she left the first and second dates blank. Drawing her finger over the names, she forced herself to envision their faces, the awful pictures from the small plastic cards and the beautiful and sexy models in the pictures and videos. She cried for them. They had been silent, for once. She was joining them, bit by bit.
Alvin had let her sleep for almost eight hours and had given her three drinks of juice and eggs. Even with his help she was beginning to look thin. Her cheekbones were coming into high profile and her breasts seemed over large compared to her sunken stomach. He told her he wouldn't be able to see her tomorrow. It wouldn't be allowed. He didn't know when he would see her again. He sounded more afraid than sad.
The sleep was a help but not enough to fully restore her grasp of
reality. It had only taken three sweeps of the pendulum before she
heard the voices in her head. They had still been talking to each other
when Mr. Smith had looked in on her.