Chapter Ten
Clean sheets on a soft bed, soap and hot water, sunlight and fresh air; these are the simple luxuries civilized people take for granted.
The room to which Sarah led her captive was like a suite in a modern hotel, except for the barred windows and the shackle bolted to the floor at the foot of the bed. Without saying anything, Sarah stripped herself naked and led Kim into the shower. There she scrubbed the girl down, paying special attention to her bald pubic area. This accomplished, she handed the soap to Kim.
“My turn,” she said huskily.
Kim returned the favor, surprised to find herself becoming aroused by the feel of the firm, soapy body under her hands. They dried each other with soft towels, a silent bond forming between them. Sarah took the girl’s hand and led her back into the bedroom.
Kim needed no command now. They tumbled into bed together, eager hands exploring, tongues probing. Both women exploded into orgasms which merged and built in intensity as morning became afternoon. Sarah gloried in the feel of the smooth head nestled between her thighs, the tongue gently lapping, the hands shyly seeking her breasts. When both women were spent, Sarah held Kim while the girl wept with gratitude and emotional release. They fell asleep that way.
The sun coming through the window was amber when Sarah woke Kim gently by tracing her fingertip around the perimeter of her ear.
“Slave girl.”
“Yes, Mistress?” she raised adoring eyes.
“You forgot to remind me.”
Sarah felt the shoulder tense under her hand. Kim’s eyes clouded with rediscovered fear.
“Mistress?” It was a plea.
“You forgot to thank me this morning. Then you forgot to remind me to punish you for it. That’s two faults.”
“Forgive me, Mistress!” Kim’s voice held no real hope of mercy.
“I want you kneeling on the floor with your legs apart and your hands on your knees.”
Kim scurried to comply, hoping that a demonstration of obedience would earn clemency.
Sarah took her time getting out of bed. She put on a clean uniform and fixed herself a drink before coming to stand over the girl. She had a box in her hand.
“I have a gift for you,” she said, opening the box. She removed two half circles of stainless steel and held them in front of Kim’s eyes. “This was made to your size. You see that it has CAS 123 engraved on it. It will identify you as a Class A slave to everyone who sees you.” She fitted the two pieces around Kim’s throat and snapped them together.
“It can be cut off,” Sarah explained, “otherwise it is permanent.”
The collar was cold and snug. If Kim needed a constant reminder of her slavery she had it now.
“Listen carefully, slave. If you do exactly as I tell you, I will bring you a nice breakfast tomorrow, and then we will come back here. If you forget even one detail, you will go hungry tomorrow and be severely punished all night.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Kim quavered.
“When I finish speaking, you will stand up and leave here. You will go back to the punishment room and wait on your knees in the middle of the floor. Three men will come in. When the first man snaps his fingers, you will crawl on your hands and knees, select a paddle from the wall display, and bring it to him in your mouth. When he takes it from you, I want you to say `Please give me twenty five hard strokes with a paddle and fuck me up the ass.’“
Kim began to cry. Sarah shushed her.
“When the second man snaps his fingers, you will bring him a strap in your mouth and ask for twenty five with the strap and an ass fucking. It will be the same with the third man, except that you will bring him a crop. When all three men have been properly armed, you will go to the whipping bench, bend yourself over it, and ask them to fasten you down for punishment.”
Kim’s shoulders shook with sobs.
“Hush child, don’t you want to please your Mistress?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Kim tried to keep the petulance out of her voice.
“Then go.”
Kim went with dragging feet and shaking knees. Worse than her fear of punishment was the dreadful knowledge that she had failed Mistress Gyve and spoiled the wonderful thing that they had shared together this day. Halfway down the hall, she realized she was alone and unbound. She could run, but there was no advantage in running. She would be stopped by the first locked door she came to, and dragged back to face a severe penalty. The door to the punishment room yawned like a crocodile.
Clean sheets, hot water, and sunlight—six weeks ago Kim would have laughed if someone told her some day she would sell her soul to have these things.
Sarah watched it all on television.
The video cameras missed nothing that went on in the punishment room. The images were so clear Sarah could see fear sweat on the girl’s body. The sound system picked up her ragged breathing. Sarah put it all on tape so that she could watch it again later.
She let Kim kneel for half an hour before sending in the three men she had selected for generous endowment and stamina. She wanted this night to be a memorable one for CAS 123.
Kim sobbed as she delivered the implements that would scald her, though she didn’t miss a single word of her litany as she requested pain. Sarah smiled with approval as she watched. She had expected Kim to display intelligence and courage, and she was right.
Many slave girls had failed such tests, groveling and pleading for a mercy they would never see. Sarah had given them extra punishment, of course, discipline had to be maintained, but afterward it had been necessary to nurse them back from the brink of hysteria. Some, she knew, would always be inferior slaves, unable to bear the rigorous demands of a real Master. They sold at bargain rates during the annual auction, and most ended up being coddled by some soft heart who lacked the will to control a quality slave.
Sarah watched as Kim arranged herself on the bench, asking to be strapped down. Kim relaxed a little when she had been secured, and no longer had to choose compliance. The sight of her bravery was almost enough to make Sarah pardon her. A hastily mixed drink killed that impulse, and Sarah settled into her chair to watch.
There were three cameras trained on the activity in the punishment room. Sarah could use the remote control in her hand to switch from one to the other, and see the action from the best angle. One camera showed Kim’s face hanging over the bench. She was biting her lip and staring straight ahead. The second camera, from the side, showed the nude length married to the table with straps at wrist, elbow, neck, and waist. Last and best was a view from the rear. Sarah could see the lovely legs spread wide and held immobile by straps at knee and ankle. The thighs and buttocks bore fading marks, dark bruises from the paddle, wide welts left by the strap, and dark lines from the whips and crops. Her sex and anus were also clearly seen, the anal opening red and swollen from previous abuse.
The man with the paddle stepped forward and held the paddle up to her lips to be kissed before walking around behind her. He beat her hard, with no pause between blows. Her screams were continuous.
It was over in a minute, though she kept on screaming for a time after the paddle ceased. The rapid blows had generated heat which would not soon fade. When the prescribed twenty five strokes had been delivered, he opened a jar of lubricant and worked it well into her. His fingers brought gasps as they probed the tender area. She felt cool hands against the heated flesh of her buttocks, yawning her apart. The blunt tip sought her opening, found it, and entered with a deep thrust.
She cried out at the brutal impalement, trying to relax muscles that tightened reflexively in protest. He allowed her no time to adjust to his girth, but skewered her with deep, rapid jabs that brought tears to her eyes. When he came, he remained inside her until the last spasm had subsided, and before withdrawing he smacked her heated backside hard with the palm of his hand and promised:
“Don’t worry, honey. When the others are done, I’ll be back for sloppy seconds.”
Something brushed against her cheek. She opened her eyes and a heavy leather strap swam into focus. She kissed it, knowing the ritual of humiliation.
“Repeat after me,” said the man with the strap. “I am CAS 123 and I am a slave.”
Kim recited the liturgy, knowing what would follow.
The strap fell. It was different from the paddle, but no less bitter. It curled and bit.
“Say it again.”
“I am CAS 123 and I am a slave.”
The strap sought sanctuary between her thighs. It swept into the cleft of her buttocks.
“Again!”
It came from below and found her slit, unprotected now by even the worthless armor of pubic hair. After every blow she had to repeat the shaming sentence, and after the tenth cruel stroke the words were screams.
“I am CAS 123 and I am a slave!”
He was bigger than the first man, or he felt that way because she was already sore. There was no doubt that he had more endurance.
Kim bit off the cry that escaped her lips with the first hard thrust, and held her silence through the rest of the assault, though he worked in deeper still and rocked her against the bench with fierce power that bruised her inside.
The orgasm which blossomed inside her was unsought and unexpected. The part of Kim’s mind that had not grown numb to thought wondered if it might be an aftershock of the morning’s passion. How different that had been from this.
The other part of Kim simply enjoyed the wave and rode it.
Then the pleasure was gone and the unseen invader was still thrusting into her, bringing pain again. When he finally spasmed and withdrew, she was limp and panting.
She unclenched her eyes and saw the crop before her, waiting for the kiss that would send it on its way.
Sarah stood up suddenly and switched off the television with a decisive movement. The recorders were getting it all. The slave had spoken her lines like a trouper. There was no longer any need to watch.
She had a drink. “Empathy,” she said aloud to the empty room. “Am I getting soft?”
She had another drink. Too much time with this slave, she decided, too many days spent sitting in silence in the punishment room while 123 writhed in front of her. It was important to love the dance of pain without falling in love with the dancer. She had another drink and went to bed to wrestle with unshakable disquiet.
During the night someone came in and stabbed a flashlight beam into Kim’s eyes. She awoke, startled, caught like a deer in headlights.
“Who are you?” demanded a voice.
“I am CAS 123. I am a slave.”
The light went out and she was left alone again in darkness.