Chapter 15
The next day, the fifth of her training, marked a change. The first thing she noticed was that he let her walk. On her feet. And shower and get clean with warm water. He even helped dry her off. She cried. Everything made her cry now, if it didn't make her cum.
She stared at the food on her plate. She was sitting at the table with Mr. Smith. She kept her hands in her lap until he said she could take a bite. He allowed her to use the fork. She chewed the savory food slowly, relishing the texture against her tongue. It was the first solid food she had had in four days. She cried as she swallowed and thanked him.
He allowed her to eat the entire meal. If she had taken one bite without permission, it would have been the last. He didn't say that, but somehow, she knew.
Instead of turning off into the training room, Mr. Smith took her to the large room at the end of the hallway. The one where the voices were.
There were lights on today and people bustling around, setting up things and moving big lights. She was naked and didn't notice.
Mr. Smith led her to a chair, a real one, and had her sit. She felt awkward, not being bound. She looked at him for reassurance and he smiled at her. His smile felt cold on her skin, but at least he wasn't angry with her. She would try to please him today. Maybe he would forgive her for not signing, but she couldn't. She was married. She stole a glance at the cheap narrow band Harold had given her. It was almost a year. It was a part of her, yet it wasn't. But it was a symbol of her commitment to Harold, whether he kept his or not.
She didn't judge Harold harshly anymore. How could she? Look at her, a married woman, sitting here naked and without shame. Lusting for another man, willing to give him everything he asked for. Everything but what she didn't have.
She was pampered that morning. Washed and oiled with glistening oils, her hair was washed and set. The lady trimmed it a little, just like in a beauty salon. Then the man came and worked on her face, adding a foundation and then some color. He used eye shadows that made her eyes stand out. All the time he was explaining what he was doing, showing her how.
Alex watched the transformation of the pretty girl in the mirror into a sexy siren. Her green eyes and red hair were stunning. When the make-up man was done he stood looking at her for a long moment. He looked almost sad.
Mr. Smith was pleased with her, she could tell. She saw him staring at her, as if he had never seen her before. She smiled at him as sexily as she could and he licked his lips. She laughed and stopped suddenly. It had been so long she couldn't remember when she had last laughed. When had she stopped?
Then the man with the cameras took over. Mr. Smith was in charge, but she followed the directions of the photographer. All the time, in her mind, she was posing for Mr. Smith.
They started out with tiny swimsuits. By now Alex knew the routine. Start with it on, then it comes off, as sexily as possible. The camera man showed her the first proof. There was a reflecting screen that had different backgrounds. The pictures looked like she was at the ocean. She was posing, just like the others had done for Mr. Smith. She posed in three different suits before she stumbled. She felt dizzy, tired.
Mr. Smith gave her a pill and a glass of water. She didn't know what it was. She looked at him and he told her to take it. It was safe, he said, just some speed. Alex didn't know what speed he wanted her to go. The water tasted good.
In a couple of minutes, Alex felt better. Not good, but better. Like she was nervous and antsy. She couldn't stay still. The kitchen she stood in looked funny with just the counter. They made her put food on her body. Then she was in shower, then a bathtub with bubbles and a long narrow bar of soap.
The lingerie that she posed in next deteriorated from an elegant, if transparent gown, to ludicrously obscene pieces of lace that had no practical purpose but to expose and excite. They rolled in a bed for her to lie on and she was naughty for Mr. Smith and for the camera.
It was about this time that Alex noticed that there seemed to be a change in the people in the room. Most of the gaffers set up the lights in a fixed position and left. The makeup man that had been giving her touch ups all morning long left her with a soft kiss on the cheek and a large bag of cosmetics for her to use. She thanked him. He looked so sad when he left.
Soon it was just Alex, Mr. Smith and a new photographer. He wasn't as nice as the first one and was touching her privates and making her do things she didn't like. Mr. Smith saw him and didn't stop him, so she let him, even sticking things inside of her anus and opening herself up when he told her, holding her pussy open so he could take pictures. Mr. Smith looked like he was waiting for someone. He kept glancing at his watch and walking up and down.
Alex had never before seen the woman who finally came in, but she knew who she was. She was beautiful. Tall and elegant, perfectly made up and covered from head to toe in black leather. She looked so sexy.
Without a word from Mr. Smith, the woman took over the photo shoot. The costumes Alex modeled now were made of leather, latex and chrome. She was corseted and the woman put her knee in Alex' back and pulled it tighter than she had thought possible. Then the nipple clamps were put on and Alex didn't think much more. Between the pain, the pills and the constant arousal, she was lost to her feelings.
A month ago this would have seemed strange, to be so free, wanton and wicked with a total stranger, but now, it felt right. Mr. Smith was there, and it was all right. Alex watched him the whole time, watching his eyes, wanting to please him.
He watched this part of the photo session much more intensely and Alex was thrilled. She did everything she could to please him, looking to him constantly for reassurance. She did things she had only recently been dreaming of. Even then, she only knew of these wicked things because he had shown her pictures and videos of the other girls doing them. Now she was doing them to please him.
She was bound and laid on a low table. The woman licked her and Alex climbed for the sky. But she stopped too soon. Mr. Smith was telling the woman something. 'Not to come' was what she heard. But the lady was already here. How could she not come if she were already here?
The pretty lady had smiled at Mr. Smith and showed him a small vial from her black bag. A doctor's bag. The vial was different than Mr. Smith's, bigger. She injected Alex with something in her cunt and around her ass and then under her nipples. In about five minutes, they felt like her mouth did when she went to the dentist. Like they were dead.
When the lady straddled her face, Alex knew what to do. She had never done it before, but she licked and sucked the woman with gusto. The pill Mr. Smith had given her helped keep her going. She knew she was exceedingly tired. She could feel it in her bones, but the pill helped her. She pleasured the woman and the woman had kissed her. She had sucked Alex' tongue in to her mouth, then explored Alex' mouth with her own. Alex liked that.
They kissed a lot after that, passionately, wantonly. The photographer kept taking pictures from every angle. The lights were hot, they were sweating, slippery. It was sexy and the two women giggled and laughed, sharing little secrets only women can share.
Alex was almost drawn to the woman, feeling she was being torn between this strong woman and Mr. Smith. It was wrong, her mind told her. She wanted Mr. Smith, but the woman was so soft and comforting. She understood Alex' needs. She wasn't demanding. Alex had never kissed a woman before and found it thrilling. It was different, softer. The woman pushed her further and further until Alex was left gasping for air.
The toys were next. At least, that's what the woman called them. She was almost naked now and so was Alex. They strapped Alex over a bar that pushed her butt way up in the air.
Alex didn't scream when the lady rammed a huge plastic dildo into her pussy. She could barely feel it because of the numbness. She did feel the fullness of it pressing against her diaphragm but the usual feelings the nerves sent to her brain were blocked. She felt cheated. Her body knew it was getting fucked and the juices were flowing, the tensions building. Unfortunately for Alex, her brain was sitting this one out and refused to allow her to climax. It was very frustrating.
That frustration grew as the afternoon wore on. The beautiful woman had used a huge strap on dildo and had fucked her for what seemed like hours, then had switched to her ass. They had finished the session by the woman putting her whole hand up inside Alex' pussy and pumping in and out. She did that for a long time. They had been excited at those shots. They called it 'fisting.'
The numbing from the shots hadn't worn off yet. Mr. Smith was impressed and told her they were getting some great shots, that she was doing great. She was thrilled that she had pleased him. Alex thanked him and pleaded for release. Not from the bondage. From the sexual tensions. He held up the clipboard with the papers. She cried. The Dom saw that exchange and looked thoughtful.
She began to get hopeful towards the end. The numbness left her nipples first and the millions of tiny prickles that preceded full sensation almost set her off. The beautiful woman, having used the drug before, was watching for this and left Alex hanging on the edge. Now that her brain was back and willing, the woman toyed with Alex, teasing and tormenting her relentlessly but never letting her go over the edge.
At the end Alex was strung up on a portable frame spread-eagled. She was naked, sweating, her new makeup a wreck, her hair in straggly clumps. Her breathing was ragged and in her mind the thin sliver of reality she had remaining was fading. She was screaming hysterically at them. The woman and Mr. Smith, standing there together, too close together. The photographer was gone.
The woman was holding a belt with two huge vibrators. They plugged into the wall. Mr. Smith said he was planning on leaving her all night wearing it. The woman said not yet, it would set her off, ruin the whole effect. Mr. Smith agreed. They waited. He touched the woman on her breasts, right in front of Alex. The woman let him and snuggled her butt into Mr. Smith's erection.
They got tired of waiting for Alex to cool off and left her hanging there, forgetting to put in the vibrators. Alex screamed at them for a long time, then the urgency passed. The effects of the pill finally wore off, too. Without stimulation, Alex slept.
She dreamed for the first time in many nights. It was them. All of them. And Petunia. Why was Petunia here? In her dream, Alex was awake, but was hanging just as she actually was, like they had left her. Or was she really dreaming?
She looked around. Without the bright lights on, she could see into the other half of the room. The studio was only on the left side. The voices were coming from the right side of the room. Alex wanted to walk over to them and pull them back. They were in danger but they didn't know it. They were calling her to join them.
Then she saw Petunia, as she had last seen her. Hanging by her legs, head down, her blood flowing into a large square drain on the floor. Like the one in the floor on the right side of the room. The big dark drain there under the block and tackle hanging from the ceiling.
Alex called out for her Daddy. She was back in the barn at home. Daddy would save her. Her voice echoed back at her. There weren't echoes in the barn. She knew. She had tried over and over as a child but had never found an echo in there.
It looked like the barn. Over there was the butcher shop. There was the big drain that had that funny acrid smell of old blood that tickled her nose. There was the big grinder for the sausages. And the neat row of the silvery little ear tags that Daddy cut out of the slaughtered animals ears to identify them, eight of them, all lined up, but the rings were too small, somehow. They looked more like the ring in her belly button.
Over there were the coiled hoses for cleaning the floor and flushing all the ground up guts, hooves and other useless parts down the drain. The sharp knives were hanging in order on the wall, not laid out on the big bench like Daddy's. These knives were for skinning and the saws were to cut through the thick bones. Gleaming and sharp. But not old, like Daddy's. These were new. Of course. This was a dream. Petunia was here. Petunia was dead. And the girls. All his pets and Petunia. Calling her. Come join them.
In spite of the discomfort, Alex slept. And dreamed. In the quiet of the third basement, no one heard her pitiful wailing for the dead girls. And for Petunia.
The cold water blasting at her from a high pressure hose woke Alex the next morning. Damon was pissed that she had slept. He had been too needy and had allowed that fucking lesbian Dom to seduced him. In retrospect, though, it had been a good pairing of almost equals. It had been a dangerous but exhausting dance they had done, and it had taken longer than he had planned. They had dallied and dallied again. He had forgotten the girl.
The damage wasn't too severe. She woke nicely, and the look of terror that crossed her face brought a twitch of life to his cock. It was about time she showed some fear. He had dragged her over to the other side of the room and positioned her above the drain. That was after he had slapped her several times trying to wake her. He wasn't surprised she was dead to the world. Four days of constant stimulation without sleep will do that to you.
When that had failed he had spied the hoses. No sense making a mess, so he moved the frame she was bound to over here and turned the hose on her. She had come to with a start, looked down, and voided herself from terror. Good thing she was already over the drain, he congratulated himself. He hated to clean up shit. Especially real shit.
Mr. Smith released her. Her terror abated and he led her, dripping and stinking up to the apartment and let her shower. She was beginning to feel almost human again. The only problem was that she was still hypersensitive. Everything aroused her. She decided she needed to be fucked.
When she went through his bedroom to her cage to get dressed, she noticed his room smelled like sex. The sheets were messed up and there were some leather garments that weren't his size. She remembered the beautiful woman from yesterday. She was happy for Mr. Smith. She hoped the woman had pleased him. Alex automatically changed his sheets and cleaned up the room. She folded the leather vest and chaps neatly and put them in a paper bag. Going into the dining area, she set them by his plate without a word, without a glance.
He was watching her to see if she was jealous. It would be interesting to see if she was. He could use it. He was disappointed. Her eyes looked at him as they always had. Clear and open, willing to give, wanting to please. Not judging him at all.
He had had her dress in her skimpy skirt, her blouse and high heels. He told her to go back and put on some make up, like the man had showed her yesterday. She had to go back three times before she had it right. First it wasn't enough, next it was too much and the last time, he was just being ornery. She could tell.
They went upstairs to the club. Except for Alvin, it was empty. Mr. Smith turned on the music, the music the others had danced to. She knew what he wanted. She wanted it, too.
It was her best dance yet. He was pleased. He was aroused. Even in the shadows she could see him, see the swelling that indicated his arousal. From the dark corner of the club she saw a glint of gold. Alvin was watching her dance, the first time, from a corner where Mr. Smith couldn't see him. It made her feel safe, knowing he was there.
She danced over to his stool and he bound her. She was ready, needy. Hot. She pleaded with him to take her, use her.
Damon looked down at the shivering bitch. One more chance, then it was gloves off. He held out the clipboard with the forms for her to sign. She begged for understanding with her eyes. She had explained to him, to the voices. She couldn't give him what wasn't hers to give.
He was displeased. But she was there, begging for it and he had waited patiently. He pushed her down onto her knees. She went willingly, bending her head towards his groin, anxious to take him as she had received no other man. Damon slapped her and she went down, ass high in the air, wanting him. She lay there, waiting, whimpering, begging.
He dropped his pants, his need suddenly impelling. Without warning he thrust into her sopping cunt. The fisting yesterday had convinced him he needn't worry about her accommodating him, not that he would have. He held her head pinned to the floor while he pulled the belt from his pants. It was good quality leather, smooth and supple. He looped it, holding both ends in one hand. With the other hand, he grabbed a handful of her red hair. He yanked her head up roughly and slipped the belt around her neck.
Slowly he withdrew from her depths, watching as the folds of her pink flesh clasped at him, trying to keep him inside of her. With the same slow speed he moved back into her, pushing in to the maximum depth, nudging against her hard cervix. Her body eagerly accepted him.
Damon was glad now he had spent the time with the Dom last night. The urgency was gone and he would last a long time. He wondered idly, as he fucked slowly in and out of the bitch under him, what it would take to break the Dom? She would make a challenging pet. How could he get her on his machine? What lure could he use?
Slipping his hand down he tightened the belt around her neck. He wasn't close yet. He wanted to give her a thrill. He heard the rasping of her breath as her airway was closed, then there was only silence. Regardless of the training, when threatened, instinct takes over. It was what thrilled him, watching the poor bitches fighting their own instincts for survival.
As expected, his new pet fought for air. With her hands tied behind her and him pinning her down with his weight, she couldn't do much but buck up and down. As she fought for her life, her cunt muscles tightened and shuddered so pleasingly on his hard cock. He could feel the fight, the need, the hunger for air. He was in control of the bitch. Finally! He felt the familiar rush, the thrill of this one moment, like none other.
He held the belt tight until she stopped struggling, then waited a beat more. Then, releasing the pressure of his hand on the back of her neck he let her breathe. In a great gasp, the bitch filled her starved lungs, gulping for several moments.
Damon saw Alvin standing by the stage. He looked at his new friend and grinned.
"The slut gives a good ride," he said. "I felt her cum when I strangled her. The little slut. She loves this."
The black man just stood there. He was an enigma. Why was he watching?
Damon pulled out of her cunt and the pet moaned, begging for more. She had thanked him when she could talk again, when she had air. What a fucking slut!
He knew she had been in a constant state of orgasm from the first thrust. He had felt it. He placed his tool against her tight anal sphincter and pressed in. There was only a slight hesitation and then she relaxed, allowing him easy entry. She really was a slut. He told her she was.
He pumped faster now, his own need building. The belt tightened around her neck again. It would stay there this time until he came. His pet bucked and thrashed, fighting for air. It was so good. She quit fighting but her ass was still clenching at him, pulling him.
He exploded into her. As he came down from his wondrous release, he slowly let the belt loosen. The pet lay still under him. He looked up at Alvin and shrugged his shoulders, a heavy lethargy settling over him. No great loss, really. But what a rush!
With a sudden gasp, the cyanotic girl started to breathe. Oh, well, just as well she was still alive. He'd have had to forge the signatures and that wasn't an easy thing to do. They tended to check those things very carefully for a five million dollar payout, especially on a sudden death so soon after the policy went into force. They wouldn't like it at all.
He got off the gasping figure. He didn't notice the big black man, wound as tight as a coiled spring, relax slightly or see him slip the deadly blade that was hidden in his huge fist back into his pocket.
"Here. You want a piece? On the house. The slut likes it and likes it rough. Just not her mouth. Clean her up and put her away when you're done," he tossed off carelessly, got dressed and left the club. He had an idea how to get the Dom into his clutches.
It was early evening when Alvin finally lay her gently down in her small room. She had clung to him on the stage after he had freed her, still needy. She would have given herself to him willingly, if he had wanted. But he didn't take her. He wanted her, and he let her know that he did.
She had needed that reassurance right then, and it would have been hard to lie, anyway. She had her head in his lap and she would nuzzle him, bleating softly, cooing against his thickening member. But this wasn't the way he wanted her. He let her sleep, holding her, crying with her until she fell asleep. She was still catching up from the deprivation and stress of the last four days, gaining strength, but she was still susceptible to Mr. D's manipulations of her.
Alvin could not imagine what it was she was holding onto so tightly that let her survive this long, what it was that kept her sane. He couldn't imagine going through all of this and still being able to refuse to sign those damn papers. As she had cried herself to sleep, she had repeated one thing over and over. He had trouble catching the soft sounds as she mumbled into his chest. The words were almost a mantra, said over and over. Finally, just as she was nodding off, he heard what it was.
She was repeating three words to herself as she rocked back and forth, "Not a slut, not a slut."
She woke as he laid her down on the low sleeping mat. Her hands were still free. With a lurch she grabbed his neck and pulled him down. He was off balance and landed, with an effort, beside her and just managed not to crush her beneath him. Giggling tiredly, she made him roll over onto his back.
He thought she would get on top of him and initiate sex, but she didn't. If she had, he wouldn't have stopped her. She turned her head toward him and motioned with her eyes. It took him a couple of times before he understood. Turning his head away from her, he looked up. All he could see was the bottom of the shelf above his head and some writing. A list. Some carpenters had used this little bottom plank for some notes or something. Probably a lunch order or a football pool. When they needed a piece of scrap for the shelf, they had used the good surface on top, leaving the scribbling underneath. It was done all the time.
He looked back at her and frowned, questioning her. What was there? She again motioned with her eyes. He looked again. There was nothing in that direction but the shelf. As he was looking back at her, a name from the past jumped at him.
He gave a strangled cry. It scared her as he started shaking suddenly, sobbing. In a complete reversal of their roles to this point, she was now the one giving comfort to him, holding his bald head in her arms as the bitterness and frustration of all those years poured out. They were rocking together, crying, their tears mingling on the floor.
It was a struggle, but he got himself under control. All these years. He had known in his gut that she had been here, that there had to be some piece of evidence what had happened to her. The trail had run cold, but he had stuck it out. Against all evidence and no evidence, he knew she had been here. And now, finally, here was the proof. She had been here, in this room. He had seen her driver's license, but had not understood. The memory of their tender love flooded over him again. He felt like he had just been kicked in the nuts. He rolled in pain, then groaned and knelt over the teary-eyed girl.
He leaned over her to shackle her down for the night. As his ear was over her face she whispered to him.
"Think I'd get an Oscar, now?"
He looked quickly at her face. Her eyes were clear, focused. She was looking up at him steadily and sanely. They both knew she would soon be lost for the night when he started the pendulum. But right now, she was here with him, in control, if only for the moment.
He nodded at her, grinning. He held up his fingers. Two. She laughed.
Closing the door on her, he said a prayer for the brave little girl. One thing puzzled him. The list of names. He knew the name of the last pet Mr. D had here. He had seen her name on the list. But not on the bottom. He had expected to see Miss Alex' name there at the bottom, but it wasn't. The last name was just a single name. A flower. Petunia.
The next two days were repeats. Mr. Smith would have her dance. He would ask her to sign the papers and she would refuse, as politely as she could, knowing it would anger him. He would then verbally and sexually abuse her, strangling her with his thick belt. She never failed to cum when he did that to her. She never failed to cum when he did anything to her anymore. She began to question if she was a slut. She never failed to thank him when he got dressed and left the club. He didn't hear her. His plans for the Dom were coming together. And in a couple of days he would start the last phase of the plan for Harold and Marcy. The sooner the better, too. They were costing him a bundle.
By the end of the third day, she saw Alvin's worried face looking down on her. He didn't know what the program was Mr. Smith had her on now. She wasn't aware of it, but none of the other pets had gone through what she had been put through the last three days. Those pets had been cherished, pampered women, had the finest of everything. Beautiful, sexy, obedient. None had been abused like Alex was being abused. And it was abuse. He had no doubts about that.
She was tired but managed to grasp his thumb and give him a reassuring squeeze. He smiled at her, knowing what it took from her to think of him. Still, it was a worried smile she saw.
She was frightened at first when he didn't start the pendulum. But soon, the fright gave way to a restless sleep. The voices were still arguing with her, but tonight they weren't as loud. After a fitful start, she fell into the first peaceful sleep she had had in a long time.
In the back of her mind was the nagging worry that whatever Mr.
Smith had planned for tomorrow must be very bad, if he was being so
nice now. But tomorrow was later. Right now, she could sleep.