Chapter Four
The smell of coffee and food brought Kim back to the present again. Terror had driven all other thoughts from her mind, but now she realized how hungry she was. How long had she been hanging in these chains? It had been long enough to make her shoulder and hip joints ache, long enough for her fingers and toes to grow cold.
“John is going to take over the driving after we have coffee,” said Otto.
“It’s ready,” said the woman. “I’ll run a cup up to him. Keep an eye on tits.”
“No problem.”
The door opened and closed. Kim felt hands fumbling with the strap holding her gag in place. The rod of rubber filling her mouth was removed. Kim swallowed and worked an aching jaw.
“I thought maybe you could use some soup,” Otto said gently. “Take it slow. It’s hot.”
It was hot, but she was hungry and drank greedily, burning her tongue as he held the bowl to her lips.
“Listen carefully,” she spoke rapidly, hoping that Otto would be a sympathetic ear. “I’m not Charlene. I’m Kim Victor, a reporter. I took Charlene’s place because I wanted to write a story about Domain. I thought it was a cult or something. I didn’t know what I was getting into. If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone what happened here.”
“Where’s Charlene?” Otto was obviously having trouble taking all of this in.
“She went to South America to get married. I was supposed to tell you that she wasn’t coming, but I was nosy. I lied to you and I’m sorry. Please let me go! I’ve made a terrible mistake!”
The door opened and closed again.
“I didn’t tell you to feed her,” said the woman angrily. “Put that gag back in.”
Kim began to protest and plead her case, but the gag was forced back into her mouth, cutting her off in mid sentence.
Otto repeated what Kim had told him, as well as he could remember it. The woman only laughed.
“You’re new here,” she told Otto, “so I will take the time to explain this. When we start to get rough with new slaves, they panic. Usually they try to bribe us. I’ve been offered huge sums in exchange for a suit of clothes and a ticket home. Sometimes they get creative and tell really credible lies. One girl told us that her father was a Mafia Don who would kill us all when he found out where she was. She was so convincing I actually ran a check on her. She was a Jewish orphan, and didn’t even have a friend with a police record. Naturally, she paid for that lie.”
There was the sound of a drawer opening. When the woman spoke again, her voice was directed toward Kim.
“Telling lies is a serious offence for a slave. I promised you a whipping earlier. You’re going to get it now.”
Kim’s blindfold was removed and she blinked her eyes into focus. The woman stood before her, looking at her intently.
“I’m Sarah Gyve,” said the woman. “You will address me as Mistress Gyve, but only when you are spoken to. I think you should know who is whipping you.”
Kim’s eyes widened at the name, and the woman noticed.
“Ah, the name is familiar to you. A former lover perhaps, or an enemy? It matters not. You shall come to love me, even when I bring you pain.”
She held the whip up where Kim could see it.
“Beautiful, is it not?” she asked. “It’s rubber, three feet long. It hurts, but the marks it leaves are not deep, and fade quickly. They tell me that the sting lasts longer. I’ll let you be the judge of that. With a whip like this I can beat you long and hard without doing you any lasting injury. You will be fit for more tomorrow.”
She drew back her arm and struck. Kim lurched frantically against her chains. The whip had wrapped itself around her ribs, and the tip had nipped at her breast.
“This is going to be a memorable experience,” promised Mistress Gyve.
It was. Kim was whipped slowly and deliberately from neck to knees, front and back. Her bottom was saved for last, and it was there most of the blows landed.
Mistress Gyve paused to wipe the sweat from her brow. Kim was sweating, too. Pain had raised a bright sheen of dew over her entire body. Her skin sang with burning agony. Her throat was raw from unvoiced screams the gag had muffled; though she couldn’t remember screaming. She had only been aware of the awful pain, and the terrible whistling sound the whip made as it cut the air. Her wrists and ankles were chafed and sore. She had tugged against her cuffs trying to curl up into a protective ball, but the chains had kept her splayed wide, and no part of her had been unmarked.
“You have been whipped for punishment,” said Mistress Gyve, panting. “Now I will whip you for my pleasure.”
Kim lay on a mattress in the corner of the truck. Sarah and Otto had taken her down from her chains. She had been too exhausted to resist when they dragged her to the corner and secured her wrist cuffs to the wall, leaving enough slack in her chain so she could roll from side to side. Sarah had removed the gag and chastity belt, gently easing out the anal plug. Kim wanted to use the chance to repeat her story, but thought better of it. She knew they would not believe her, and she didn’t want to suffer any more.
She was fed and allowed to use a bedpan. Mistress Gyve stood by and watched her urinate, then emptied the pan into the toilet without comment. The ritual reminded Kim of her summer with Aunt Sarah and Uncle Emil. How quickly she had reverted to the servile state of that far off time. She wondered if she wasn’t secretly submissive in the depths of her soul. Perhaps she continued to fall victim to sexual dominants because her own unadmitted desires exerted a sort of mystical attraction, drawing them to her like the scent of prey.
No, she told herself. It was blind fortune. She had to submit because circumstances allowed her no other choice, then or now. When she saw her chance, she would explain her plight; failing that, she would find a way to escape. She would not surrender again.
Thinking, she fell asleep.
When she woke up, Otto was there, turning her over on to her belly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s orders, nothing personal.”
One strong hand against the small of her back held her firmly against the mattress, the other hand smeared her anus with grease. She flailed her legs without effect, trying to roll over.
“Relax,” Otto advised helpfully. “If I don’t do it, Sarah will, and the rubber prick she uses is a lot bigger than mine.”
He buggered her.
She screamed into the mattress with pain and outrage as she felt his erection burrowing into her. It was hot, and hard, and impossibly thick; but she was well lubricated, and her resistance did little to keep him out.
“Try to relax,” he repeated. “It won’t hurt so much.”
She willed the tension out of her muscles and the pain began to subside. He stayed inside her for a minute, enjoying the grip of her tight channel around him. Then he began to ease in and out with a slow rhythm. He lasted a long time, and before he had finished, Kim was discovering to her horror she was actually beginning to enjoy the silky hardness, which plumbed her. A wetness pooled between her legs.
“Please,” she moaned, not believing the sound of her own voice. “Please put it into my pussy instead.”
“Sorry,” he grunted. “Sarah said you should only get it in the ass until she says otherwise.”
When he left her, she was sobbing into the mattress, filled with shame at what he had done, and even more ashamed by her reaction. She could not deny to herself that the attack had aroused her sexually. With her hands bound as they were, she couldn’t use her fingers on herself, and her sex throbbed with a desire that she could not satisfy.
They had her controlled. She would eat and eliminate when they let her. She would do what they told her to do in order to avoid pain. She would be aroused and satisfied at their whim.
Sleep came again. She dreamed that her old Aunt Sarah was giving her an enema, but the tube she had selected was as big as a fire hose. Kim protested that it would kill her. Uncle Emil came in with a rubber whip.
“I don’t have to use this, do I?”
She was awake. The bald man was standing over her with the same whip which had scalded her earlier.
“Hard or easy, it’s all the same to me.”
Kim knew what he was there for. With a tired whimper she rolled over on to her face and spread her legs.
“Good girl,” he said. “Lift your ass.”
He was rougher than Otto. She felt as though she had been attacked by a torturing machine that drove into her aching orifice with brutal piston strokes.
The truck rolled on into the night.