The limousine arrived precisely at 6 pm. The chauffeur quickly and silently opened the door for me to get in. To my embarrassment I realized he was the same man who had driven me to the Drs. office and home after my first ordeal. He had seen the condition I was in and heard me sobbing in the back seat. As our eyes briefly met I felt a hot flush come over me. I wondered exactly what did he know? What kind of a person did he think I was? Did he know what horrors awaited me? He remained silent as I slid into the back of the car. As expected sitting was not an easy task. The strange undergarments made it very uncomfortable. Within minutes we were on the expressway headed out of Brooklyn towards Long Island. I had made this trip several times during my employment to Mr. Winston. Those trips had been either for meetings or social events. This time would be much different. We drove in complete silence. This only made the journey seem longer. I could not help wondering what was in the chauffeurs mind. Did he know why I was being brought to the Winstons. Had he driven other women to the same fate that awaited me. My mind was a maze of questions. The deeper into thought I ventured, the more confused I became. The thought of demanding to be brought back home even crossed my mind. That was quickly replaced by the fear of the consequences. I had in fact signed a contract and confession of guilt. If for any reason I did not follow the instructions I would be arrested immediately and sent to prison. As much as I feared my impending ordeals, the thought of five years in the place I had seen in the video left me little choice. The silence and the fear were working on my nervous system so I ventured to try a conversation. I asked how long before we arrived at our destination. My reply was complete silence. Out of frustration I asked if he knew the purpose of my trip. The only reply was a quick backward glance in my direction. I realized any effort to communicate was futile, this man was well trained. Again I sat back in my seat trying to find a somewhat comfortable position. As I looked out of the window I saw a sign that read exit 36 1 mile. We were almost at the Winstons home. I knew from past experience it would only be about another ten minutes before we arrived. I immediately felt a knot start to form deep in the pit of my stomach. The terror of what would happen to me was again beginning to take its toll. My body was starting to shake uncontrollably and I felt my heart pounding in my chest. I opened the window to get some air as I felt a wave of nausea come over me. I took several deep breaths and tried to control my fears. I knew I had to regain my composure or I was truly doomed. I had gone over this night in my mind many times and resigned myself to the fact that I would have to use all my strength and will power to survive. I looked up in time to see the chauffeur almost staring at me through the rear view mirror. I felt instantly embarrassed at the spectacle I was making of myself. I rolled up the window and sat back in the seat not wishing to further humiliate myself. I lit a cigarette thinking this could be the last for quite a while. As I tried to relax for the last few minutes of the journey my mind took over and brought into focus all the thoughts I had been having for the past two weeks. I had resigned myself to certain facts. I was sure I would be exhibited like some prize animal. The lingerie I was wearing made that very obvious. The fact that I would be beaten and tortured in various ways was made very clear to me by comments made by the Winstons. I also knew I would be used in many different ways as a sex slave by the group of men and women. The thought of being forced into various sexual acts with the men was horrible, but I knew I could get through that. It was the prospect of sex with the women that was totally revolting. I had never been with a woman and for some strange reason feared them much more than I feared the men. It was probably a fear of the unknown. There was nothing sexual a man could do to me that had not been done before. I quickly thought of the worst case scenario. I might be forced to give someone a blow-job. I've done that before. Although it was not high on my list, I would get through it. I also thought of the possibility of being fucked in the ass. Again, I had done it before and would survive. The women were different. I had seen videos showing women having sex with each other. The thought of sucking another breast or eating someone's pussy absolutely turned my stomach. As I began to delve deeper into these most distressing thoughts the car made a sudden turn. As I looked up I realized we were in the driveway of the Winstons house. As we drove up to the front door we passed three large imported luxury cars which I had never seen before. The one closest to the door was a new Mercedes 600 SEL. It was black with dark tinted windows. For some strange reason just the appearance of that car sent a shiver through my body. It reminded me of old war movies I had seen were the German Gestapo had similar cars. They would take some poor woman away to be tortured. The only difference here was I was coming to them. The chauffeur opened my door and extended his hand to help me out. Getting out of the car was even more difficult than getting in. The constricting clothing I was wearing made movement awkward. As I stretched my leg out to the pavement my coat parted revealing me almost to the waist. As I looked up the chauffeurs eyes was locked on my near nakedness. His greedy stare was taking in the fact that I was not wearing anything but the garter belt under the coat leaving my pussy totally exposed. As I looked up my eyes met his and to my surprise I detected a sympathetic look.

Before I had a chance to say a word, he in a kind and gentle tone told me to be strong and hang in. He also assured me that he would be there to make sure I was all right, and got home safely. His change of attitude caught me off guard. Before I could think about it the door opened and Goldie was telling me to come inside. As I walked into the large entrance hall I heard the door close behind me. The sound made me realize how alone and vulnerable I was. It served to remind me of the title I had been given, slave. I was startled by Goldies voice. She sarcastically told me how good it was to see me again. As I looked in her direction I could not help seeing the way she was looking at me. I had seen the same hungry glare in the Drs. office and the ladies room at work. I quickly turned my focus from her eyes to what she was wearing. It was not her normal maids uniform. Instead it was a tight black dress, dark stockings and black high heels. Before I had a chance to analyze the maids strange attire my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of spike heels on the marble floor. It was Mrs. Winston. As she approached all my deepest fears surfaced and I felt my body begin to involuntarily shake. I had to reach deep into myself to find the strength to regain what little composure I had left. As she came closer I could not help noticing her clothes. She was wearing a short red leather skirt, a black silk blouse, black nylons and red high heels. It was in total contrast to her normally conservative style. Instead of any kind of greeting she said in a stern voice that it was a good thing I was on time. Next I was asked if I was wearing what she had provided, and if I had followed all the instructions I had been given. The look on her face and the tone of her voice frightened me. In a panic I mentally retraced all the preparations I had put myself through. Because of the fear this woman had instilled in me without thinking I confessed to not completing the last enema. Mrs. Winston became angry and demanded to know why. I told her I had tried my best but could not hold as much as she had instructed. With a smirk on her face she said that was too bad and that other provisions would be made in the future. I was afraid to ask what she meant. Next I was ordered to remove my coat so she could see how I looked. Goldie took my bag and my fingers began to fumble with the buttons of my last remaining line of defense. No sooner was the last button undone did Goldie practically rip the coat off my shoulders.

Both women wasted little time surveying the bizarre costume I had been ordered to wear. They both feasted on my near nakedness. Slowly they walked around me to glimpse every angle. I felt my face flush with embarrassment. Finally Mrs. Winston looked directly at me and congratulated herself on the fine selection and fit. Her only complaint was that the hooks on the cincher should be tighter and ordered Goldie to make the adjustment. Despite my protests concerning the difficulty in breathing, the cincher was immediately made smaller. The effect was devastating. It felt as if my rib cage was being crushed. The simple act of taking a breath caused pain and discomfort. My protests were answered by being told that I would get used to it and soon would have other problems to think about. Next Goldie was told to put the cuffs on me. There on a small table were four leather straps which I had not noticed. As the maid began to engulf my wrists in the fur lined straps, Mrs. Winston explained how these cuffs had been made especially for me and would hold me in any position they deemed appropriate, yet would not cause any bruises. As two more were fastened to my ankles Mrs. Winston sarcastically said that any bruises I did receive would not be visible to the general public and would be confined to the area between my knees and neck. After the four cuffs had been secured to Mrs. Winstons satisfaction I learned what the rings on the sides of the cincher were for. By means of small clips, my wrists were fastened to my sides. This left my hands and arms immobile and of no use in trying to defend myself. It also brought my shoulders back bringing my breasts into greater prominence. Now totally satisfied, Mrs. Winston announced it was time for me to meet the others. As I was led through the house I realized for the first time that during my time in the hall I did not hear sounds other than our own. Passing the living room and entering the den I wondered where the others were. Could they be upstairs I thought as we passed the stairway. We then stopped at a door which I had seen many times but never noticed. I had just assumed it was a closet. Suddenly Goldie produced a key and unlocked the door. It opened to a long staircase which lead to the basement. In all my previous visits to the house I never knew there was a floor below the main level. I was told to follow Mrs. Winston as we began our decent with Goldie at the rear. There was nothing at all peculiar about the stairway, it was well decorated and luxuriously carpeted. As I slowly followed, cautious of the extremely high heels, I felt a terrible sense of danger. All of a sudden the recollection of the hidden room in the basement of the Drs. office crashed into my mind. I felt the sudden urge to turn and run but I knew there was no escaping my fate. I was trapped in more ways than one. I could not believe my stupidity for stealing the money in the first place. And the reason was even more pathetic, to buy clothes. The stairs led to a large ornate door which was also locked. This time it was Mrs. Winston who produced the key and opened the door. As it opened a wave of panic came over me and I turned and tried to run. I knew once in the room I was truly doomed. Just as she had done before Goldie grabbed me and easily forced me in as Mrs. Winston locked the door behind us. Once inside I gazed at my surroundings in total awe. It was an extremely large well lit room. The area closest to the door resembled a well appointed living room. In the far corner to the left was an area that looked exactly like a hospital operating room. It was complete with white tile and overhead lights. The opposite corner resembled a medieval dungeon. It had stone walls, floors and large wooden devices. My only thought was what kind of hell had I entered. This had to be some kind of nightmare. This could not be real. I could not be here. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a womans muffled scream. That was when I realized other people were already here. I squinted towards the bright lights of the hospital area and focused on four other figures. Just then the two women grabbed me by the arms and pulled me towards the group, saying it was time to join the party. The first person I recognized was Mr. Winston. His attire was strange to me as I was used to always seeing him in a suit and tie. Now he wore only black slacks and a magnificent black smoking jacket. Next my eyes came to focus on the dreaded Dr. Kim. Just the sight of her along with the memory of the excruciating pain she had caused brought bone chilling fear. Then to my horror I recognized the woman from the video. It was the prison wardress. Before her ominous figure had a chance to fully register my eyes came upon a man whose very presence commanded the room. He was tall, very well built, probably in his 50s with long silver hair and absolutely gorgeous. He wore jeans, a white dress shirt with too many buttons open and loafers the same color as the slightly faded but perfectly tailored jeans. As he looked in my direction I had to turn away in total embarrassment. I should be meeting this man wearing an evening gown, not some lingerie that made me a sexual exhibit. I was so taken aback by the silver haired man that I stopped my inspection of the room. A loud pained female moan made me look up again. I now saw what had everyone's attention. There was a woman strapped to the examining table. Although it was hard to see her I could clearly hear her pained sobs. Mrs. Winston and Goldie both started dragging me toward the group. Mrs. Winston was saying it was time for me to be formally introduced. The first one to pay any attention to me was the wardress.

She walked toward us with her eyes riveted to me. I could actually feel her stare consuming every curve and crevice of my body. Her cat like eyes seemed to have the ability to remove what little clothing I did have on. Mrs. Winston then took the opportunity to formally introduce us. She said Debbie I want you to meet Ms. Collins. She is the wardress of the state prison for women. Before I could say or do anything the wardress tilted my head back with one finger placed under my chin. I had been looking at the floor afraid to look directly at her. She continued her examination of me and finally told Mrs. Winston what an excellent specimen she had found. She added that I was much better in person and the pictures did me no justice. She was only sorry that I did not choose to take the prison term because of all the fun and games she was sure she would miss out on. She went on to say that not only did she regret my decision but she was sure that the guards and other inmates would have found me a choice morsel. As I looked at this woman I found her even more attractive in person than I had remembered from the video. She was taller and larger than I had expected. Although her face was that of a mature woman, her body would be envied by woman half her age. Her clothing and jewelry were magnificent, definitely Armani and Cartier. The understated elegance of the black two piece suit did little to hide the voluptuous body it tried to conceal. The more I looked at this woman the more I feared her. That coupled with what I had seen her do in the video had me biting my lip and digging my fingernails into my palms. Just then the woman on the table let out a very loud moan and Mrs. Winston suggested we see what was going on and meet the others. As we got to the table Mrs. Winston said I of course knew Mr. Winston and the Dr. but she wanted me to meet Mr. and Mrs. Gund. The man with the silver hair turned toward me and in a thick German accent introduced himself in an extremely cordial way as Herr Gund. He then gestured to the table and said that the woman strapped down was his wife Laura. He then took the opportunity to visually examine my exposed form and congratulate Mrs. Winston on her fine acquisition. The man had a definite air of self assurance and arrogance, yet he projected power and wealth. The Mercedes parked outside had to be his, the car fit the man. My mind was in turmoil. The room. The people. The knowledge of why I was here. All I could do was stand there in silence. I remembered my instructions. Never speak unless asked a question and foremost never address anyone without the title Master or Mistress. I thought of some of the things that were done to me already. I also thought of what could be done now and in the future. This was after all only the first of twelve such parties. I remembered Mrs. Winstons words,"twelve parties, medical examinations, fittings and whatever other preparations are necessary". I just stood there and silently prayed I would be able to survive the up coming year. What tortures would I be made to endure? How many sexual deviations would I be used for? I wondered how I would manage to conduct a somewhat normal family life? And most of all how would I keep John from finding out. A smack to the back of my head by Goldie brought me to attention. Mrs. Winston wanted me to come closer to the table so I would be able to see what was being done to Laura. The closer I got the worse the sight became. She was on her back well secured to the table by straps around her wrists, ankles, thighs and a wide strap across the top of her breasts. She also had a strap across her forehead much like the one I had on me when I was at the Drs. office. The worst part of what I saw was the large funnel that was strapped into her mouth. It was hard to see what her face looked like because of the straps and the way her cheeks bulged out. She had long blonde hair and seemed to be about the same size as me. She was wearing a black bra, garter belt and stockings. Her breasts were not as large as mine but stood out well in the position she was in. It was then that I noticed her stomach. It was very swollen and for a minute I wondered if she were pregnant. I thought she might be getting an enema but as I glanced down, saw no tube. I did notice a large butt plug in her ass. I also saw the same type of catheter tube coming out of her that was used on me. Just then she began to moan and to my horror everything became clear.

The Dr. was pouring a pitcher of steaming liquid into the funnel. Laura's reaction was instant. I watched her eyes bulge and heard her muffled screams as the Dr. poured the hot liquid into her mouth. Her stomach swelled even more and she was immediately covered in sweat. As I had done when I was strapped to the table in the Drs. office, she was pulling on the bonds and thrashing as much as possible. As the Dr. emptied the pitcher she quickly reached for a full one and I heard Laura scream as much as the funnel would allow. I had to turn away. Watching this torture being done I realized that it could as easily be me on the table. Mrs. Winston saw my reaction and came closer to me and began to explain what was being done. She told me that not only was Laura Mr. Gund's wife, she was also his slave. She added that although Laura was a slave, she was allowed to assume the role of dominant over other females. She continued to explain how recently she had committed the indiscretion of spitting out her husbands cum while giving him a blow job. He had decided that some form of oral punishment would be in order and took this opportunity to have the Dr. do it for him. She went on to explain how the funnel was attached to a tube that was down Lauras throat. She said that the Dr. planned to pour over a gallon of hot soapy water into the woman and then leave her secured to the table while she considers her terrible conduct. She also pointed out to me that Laura had the catheter in her and was also well plugged with an inflatable butt plug. That way she would have to hold the entire contents until her husband thought she had suffered enough. Mrs. Winstons last comment to me was to remember what I was seeing. She said this could easily be done to me if I had any problems with giving blow jobs, eating pussies, or anything else I might be ordered to do with my mouth. I was then told that since this was my first time in their so called playroom, I would be given a little tour. This would help familiarize me with the various devices that in all probability would be used on me. Mrs. Winston continued by needlessly pointing out the fact that the area we now stood in was very much like the special room in the basement of the Drs. office. The memories of what had been done in that room came crashing into my brain. The elaborate gynecological table to which Laura was bound being the same as the one I had been bound to. All the tools necessary to inflict the maximum amount of pain on a female were all present. The same type of syringes that had been used on my breasts were all neatly displayed. The mere sight of them caused a wave of nausea to overtake me. I remembered the intense pain the fluids in my breasts had caused and thought about the days of suffering I endured until the swelling had gone down.

I saw an open cabinet which contained an assortment of dildos. Some seemed too large to be used on any female. What made seeing them even worse was the fact that I knew from experience how they could be used. I had been given a small demonstration by Mrs. Winston. Looking at some of the larger dildos I realized that the anal rape I received at her hand could have been much worse. She must have seen the expression on my face and asked what I found so interesting. Her question caught me off guard and I replied without thought about the size of the dildos. I was told not to be alarmed since the larger ones would not be used on me until I was properly prepared.

She continued in her sarcastic tone to tell me how I would be gradually stretched until I was able to take even the biggest one in either of my openings. As much as I tried not to look at the bound woman on the table a particularly loud moan caught my attention. As I looked down at Laura, her stomach now even more grossly distended than it had been only a few minutes ago, I realized she was begging through the funnel. Mrs. Winston just looked down at her and said there was nothing she could do, the length of her ordeal was up to Mr. Gund and the Dr. The sight was too terrible for me to behold. Laura was bathed in sweat, her eyes were glazed over and she was in uncontrollably spasms. The sight of another woman being tortured was not an easy thing to see. It only served to remind me of the unenviable position I was in. A slight tug to my arm by Mrs. Winston signaled the continuation of the tour. I was now shown an area almost hidden from view just off the medical section. It also was completely made of white tile and very well lit. Before I was able to focus on the rooms contents, I was informed that this was the water room where most of the douches and enemas were administered. In the center of the room was a apparatus that resembled an old gynecological table. It was all shiny metal, with no padding. As with the other tables, binding straps hung all around it. Against one wall was a metal tray that was big enough for a person to lie in. It resembled a bathtub with shallow sides. Upon further examination I noticed it had a large drain and like most of what I had seen so far was fitted with binding straps. Set into this apparatus was a set of gleaming steel bars which formed what looked like a table with no top. Again the ever present straps. In the corner stood a platform with a thick pipe sticking out of it. The pipe was about two feet high and had a large dildo attached to the end sticking straight up. At the front of the platform were a series of valves and gauges. There were also rings at the edges and a chain hanging from the ceiling above it. In the opposite corner was a toilet bowl. It just sat in the open exposed to the view of anyone looking. I could only imagine what terrible ordeals could be carried out in this room. As ridiculous as it now sounds I shuddered at the thought of sitting on that bowl with no privacy at all. Before I was able to let my mind wander too far, my attention was directed to the opposite wall. Mrs. Winston took a sinister joy in showing me all the hoses which were attached to an elaborate plumbing system. On the same wall were rows of shelves neatly lined with douche and enema nozzles of every size and shape. I was told that there was a specific nozzle for any desired effect. Some could be inserted into the upper intestine, while others were made to fit into a woman's uterus. Some could be expanded to unimaginable proportions, while others had the ability of being electrified. My expression must have given away some of my thoughts. Mrs. Winston only smiled at me and said how she looked forward to trying them all on me. My fears were increasing by the minute. I was beginning to realize that what had been done to me at the Drs. office was nothing compared to what could be done here. Next I was directed to a set of shelves on which many bottles were stored. I was told that they contained an assortment of chemicals that could be used in the douches and enemas. They ranged from simple soap to things I had never heard of. I can not even begin to describe the gut wrenching fear I was experiencing. I was in the hands of a group of complete lunatics and totally at their mercy. As we exited the room I thought of the enemas I was instructed to give myself earlier that afternoon. I remembered the pain they had caused and knew that was nothing compared to what these fiends would subject me to in this room. Is we walked across the medical area, as I will refer to it, we came upon a section of the basement that was in total contrast. This section had stone walls and floors. All the apparatuses were constructed of heavy dark wood. Before I had a chance to react Mrs. Winston said that this was their version of a medieval torture chamber. She said how proud they were of this re-creation. It had taken great expense and many months to have it built to specifications taken from old European dungeons. She went on to say that I probably would not know the purpose of the different things I saw so she would give me a brief explanation of each.

First I was shown what she referred to as the rack. It was a long low table with ropes and pulleys on each end. I was told how I could be tied to it and stretched out until my joints were pulled to the point of dislocation. I could also be stretched until my skin became very taut and then I could be whipped. She said these were the main things that were done on this but I could be sure there were many variations I would not enjoy.

Next I was shown what she referred to as a simple whipping post and an x-frame. These along with a long bench like device were used mainly for whipping. Before I could analyze what I was being shown my attention was brought to what she called the pillory. I had seen something similar in movies about the pilgrims. They were in the town square and people would be bent with their necks and arms in the holes. As if she read my thoughts she said that I would recognize this from old movies but quickly pointed out some differences. There was a large platform on which the legs of the victim could be spread and attached. She also told me that since they were dealing primarily with females, the top had been modified. It enabled them to change a piece and secure a woman's breasts into the holes. Again in her sarcastic tone she explained how this did not work on everyone but given the fact that my breasts were large, would indeed work well on me. Hearing her comment I looked down at my chest that was quite exaggerated by the bra I was forced to wear and thought of my sisters. I had often made comments in jest about their size calling them tit-less. Now I wished I was a 34-A like them instead of my more than ample 34-D. Before I could finish the thought I was pushed toward what resembled a massive chair. I could see that it was attached to the floor with large bolts. Upon further examination I saw that it had no actual seat. Instead there boards where the thighs would rest. It did not take much thought to realize that this would leave your ass and pussy open and vulnerable. As with the other devices there were heavy leather straps dangling from the arms, legs and back. Mrs. Winston was helpful in showing me an assortment of wooden and metal attachments hanging on a wall next to the chair. She said that this was one of their most versatile torture instruments. There were pieces that could be put on the seat so dildos could be attached. Other pieces were lined with small needles for the victim to sit on. She pointed to an attachment that when put in place formed a platform. It was made to fit under the breasts of the woman in the chair. This she explained was invaluable for tit torture. There was that phrase again. I had heard it in the Drs. office during my examination and I remembered what the Dr. had said. Because of the size and shape of my breasts I would be able to take a lot of tit torture. If the injections I had received were any indication, I doubted I would be able to take as much as they planned to give me. I have always considered my breasts one of the most sensitive parts of my body. I remember routine mammograms done by my own Dr. I would be crying openly when they were put in the ex-ray machine and pressed. Now looking at this chair and listening to what was being said, the thought of having my breasts, one of my most valuable assets tortured, caused an even deeper sense of anguish.

Ever since I was a young girl and started to develop my chest was one of the things about myself I was most proud of. As I grew older I would take every opportunity to wear things low cut or tight that showed off the creamy white cleavage. Again as if she were some kind of wizard, Mrs. Winston seemed to read my thoughts. She said how much fun they would all have torturing the tits I had been so willing to flaunt. Then she said that I should not worry too much because they promised not to cause any permanent injury. Also I should not be so sullen at the mention of tit torture alone. They planned to hurt my cunt, ass and every other part of my body. The comment and my expression brought about a hearty laugh by Mrs. Winston. Next to the chair was what looked like a simple sawhorse. Mrs. Winston told me how I would be bound over it for an assortment of punishments. Pointing at the upper edge she said I would also be made to ride it. I was not sure of what she meant until she made me look closer. I saw that the top was cut into a narrow triangle with small wedges that looked like sawteeth. I must have had a puzzled look on my face because she again laughed, called me stupid and said " I guess you do not know what I mean by riding it". To my horror she explained how I would be hung from the ceiling with my legs astride so my cunt was on the top edge supporting my full weight. She was a master at her game. The real torture had not even begun and I was suffering untold agonies in my mind. I had heard of mental torture and now for the first time realized its total effectiveness. Just as I was being directed to the corner of this area, we were interrupted by the Wardress. She informed Mrs. Winston that the others were eager to begin with the festivities. She added that she also wanted to begin. Mrs. Winston replied that she was almost through with the tour and only had the tank left to show me. The wardress asked if she could explain its uses since she had one very similar at the prison and used it often. In response Mrs. Winston said "please be my guest". I watched Mrs. Winston walk off to a small area that resembled a living room with couches, chairs and coffee tables. The Wardress grabbed my arm in a vise like grip and walked me to the corner of the room. They said I would be shown the tank. There was nothing I could see except a large board on the floor. The Wardress commanded me not to move as she let go of my arm. She went and moved the piece of wood out of the way. That exposed what appeared to be a large hole in the floor. It was about the size of a large garbage can and was pure white. That was in total contrast to the rest of this area. It had a thick clear plastic cover that was split down its length with three holes. The center hole was larger than the two end ones and it resembled the pillory. I could clearly see locks which held the cover in place. Visible inside were several openings in the sides and base. Mounted to the wall next to it was an elaborate control panel with a small trap door underneath. As I was trying to figure out what its purpose was the wardress pushed me toward it and said I should take a closer look so I would know what would happen when I was put into it. Now that Ms. Collins or the wardress as I had come to know her stood next to me I realized how big a woman she was. In the 5 inch heels I was forced to wear I stood nearly 6 feet tall. This woman had at least 3 inches on me. She was also much broader than my size 6 frame. What surprised me most was the strength of her grip on my arm. The words being whispered in my ear brought my attention back to the tank. I was told how I would be made to climb down into it. Then the clear plastic cover would be put around my wrists and neck and locked into place. For the first time since the tour had began I was asked if I understood. I did not, and when I failed to reply the Wardress sarcastically called me stupid. She then began to explain in more detail. She told me that this device was designed for more diabolical forms of torture. Once I was locked in place, they would all be able to relax and watch the show I would put on. My questioning look brought an evil smirk to her face. I was told that none of the previous occupants of the tank understood its full potential until they had experienced it. Then they would promise and do almost anything not to be put in again. She was playing a game with me and doing a very good job of it. As horrible as some of the other things I had seen were, this was worse in a different way. It had no obvious way of causing pain. As if she too was able to read my thoughts she started to tell me how once locked in place a variety of things would happen. For example, after a severe whipping the tank could be filled with a mixture of salt, lemon, vinegar, alcohol and hot water. Screaming, I could be kept in it until my skin almost blistered.

Another variation was to be submerged in ice cold water which would cause violent shaking and muscular cramping. Now I was beginning to understand her warnings. Before I could say a word she opened a little cabinet near the tank and showed me about a dozen large glass jars. As had been the case with everything else these people did, all of the jars were neatly arranged and clearly marked. I began to silently read the labels and as my brain absorbed what I saw, I screamed and turned to run. Through all the events that lead up to this moment I had tried to act stoic and accept my fate. I kept telling myself that somehow I would get through it. After all, I was guilty of stealing a large sum of money. I had also made the choice between a year of slavery or five years in prison. The Winstons were very clear about the fact that as retribution, I would have to be punished. What I was seeing was beyond punishment. It was beyond the limits of female endurance. I ran aimlessly toward the door screaming for help. With my arms fastened to the sides of the cincher it was hard to maintain balance. The five inch heels also made it easy to catch me. Within a few seconds Goldie and the wardress were dragging me back toward the tank. I was in a state of absolute panic. As bad as what had already been done to me, or what I had seen or heard had been, it paled in comparison to the prospect of those jars. It took the efforts of both women to hold me near the open cabinet. In my mind this had be the worst form of torture that could be used on me. Ever since I was a child I had a tremendous fear of bugs, snakes or rodents. I believe most woman do. Now I was staring at glass jars full of these creatures. The wardress was the first to speak. I was told that my reaction was not uncommon. Most of the victims who were faced with the inhabitants of the jars would submit to almost anything instead. Some would even inflict pain onto themselves. She completely disregarded my pleas and struggles and continued to tell me how I could be locked in the tank with the contents of any of the jars. To make her point she picked up one that was labeled Leeches. As I stared at the slimy things she told me how they could be added to the water, along with me. Before I was able to say a word she replaced that jar and showed me one labeled Blood Worms. On and on she went. I saw small Snakes, Mice, Hamsters, Spiders, several types of Ants, Bees and even 2 large eels. As if I had not seen or heard enough she told me how in her tank at the prison she would often put an uncooperative girl in along with a cat. Once water started going in the cat would become frantic trying to escape and severely scratch and even bite who ever was in the tank. To further make her point the Wardress ran her hand over the mounds of my breasts and asked "imagine the cats claws and teeth digging into these". The point was indeed made. Although I had very few choices, I would submit to almost any form of punishment or degradation to avoid this torture. Just seeing the different creatures gave me a good indication of what could happen once I was locked in place. I was beaten and I knew it. I stopped struggling and just relaxed in the grip of the two women. Just what I had seen took most of the fight out of me. The wardress had me terrified and she knew it. I guess she wanted to see me squirm so she continued. She made me listen as she described one of her favorites. As Goldie held me the Wardress again squeezed my breasts and told me how she would make a paste out of Honey and Corn Meal. The mixture would then be painted on my tits, around my ass and all over my pussy. For emphasis she released my breasts and ran her long nails along the sides of my pussy. Without warning she even jabbed a sharp nail into me and said "I make sure I get a lot in here". Then she said I would be locked in the tank. To demonstrate what she was saying she opened the trap door and showed me how it lead to the inside of the tank. Then she would put a hungry chicken in with me. I felt my eyes bulge in disbelief as she said, "think how you'll scream as the chickens sharp beak takes little bites out of you as it tries to get the food". She scraped me as she pulled out her finger and added "it can even reach in here". With my head down I walked docilely with them as I was lead toward the area that resembled a living room or den.

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