“Pony. Tegan. Five feet seven inches. Hmmm. Great tits,”
Dylan remarked as he laid the clipboard aside and took a few moments to
manhandle the generous and yielding breastmeat.
He smiled as, despite her stubbornness and very best
efforts to remain detached from an ordeal he always tried to make as
humiliating and severe for them as he could and as pleasurable for himself and
his colleagues as the job description promised, under his lustful gaze her
nipples began to harden, darkening to an attractive mocha shade.
“Look at you! You love it, you tow rag of a whore. You’re
gagging for it and you can’t help yourself.” He switched his grasp and took
each hardened nub between finger and thumb, pulling and squeezing, manipulating
them mercilessly until he extracted whimpers of desire from her. Then with a
broad smile he wrung them viciously, laughing as the whimpers turned to a cry
of pain. “You think that hurt? You won’t know what hit you by the time we’re
through here today.”
He wandered over to one of the bins and returned with a
selection of equipment. Firstly, he yanked her ponytail and pulled it on top of
her head where he secured it with a metal clip, scraping her scalp with its
teeth as he did so. Then he scooped her remaining hair back from her face and used
a second clip to hold it, finally covering her entire head with a tight-fitting
rubber skullcap, he used its straps to buckle it beneath her chin. Next, he
held up a pair of crocodile clips and, using his own finger, demonstrated how
the sharp little tines punctured the skin before fitting them to her engorged
nipples.
“Aaaarghh!”
“Don’t make such a fuss. That didn’t hurt! Open your
legs. No, wider,” he waited until she had complied, and added, “now this will hurt!” With that, he closed a
second pair of the evil little clips to her labia, laughing as her agonised cry
burst from her throat and set the metal frames vibrating.
Unable to protect her most tender regions with her hands,
instinct made her close her legs and cross them tightly over her tormented
quim.
“I didn’t say you could close them!” he bellowed, driving
his hands between her tightly crossed thighs and forcing them apart. “Open them
like before.”
Devastated by both the pain and the pure eroticism that
she was supposed to deny but that nevertheless set her shaking until it had
engulfed her, she did as he asked. He grabbed the metal spreader bar from the
desk, fixed it between her ankles and used the attached, heavy-duty manacles to
keep it in place. Lastly and with a hand flat against her belly, Dylan shoved
her the few steps backward to the desk, cupped a hand over her delta and
squashing the wicked clips against her cunt, he tipped her back over it, and
standing with his leg against her thigh he prised the clipped labia apart and
without preamble thrust his fingers inside her warm channel.
“Ha! I knew it. You’re soaking wet. You sluts just love
it, don’t you?” he laughed as her insides squelched noisily.
Slaves were not permitted to speak unless given
permission and so she held her tongue.
“I said, ‘you sluts love it, don’t you?’ Answer me,
bitch!”
“Yes, Master,” she said, using the correct form of
address for all the men, “we all love it. Thank you, Master Tranter.”
“You’re not
supposed to love it, you stupid American tart. It’s for us to love it and for
you to submit.”
He pulled his fingers free and laughed again as ponygirl and master were momentarily joined by a string of
girl-juice that sparkled in the harsh, overhead lighting. Walking around the
desk, he climbed upon it and with his knees either side of her head, he opened
his flies and extracted his stiff cock. Aiming its shiny helm straight at the
mouth below him that opened automatically to receive it, he drove his shaft
down her experienced throat and began pumping. The biting of clips on her
nipples seemed to double in intensity as they jiggled and the chain which
joined them jingled prettily as he roughly kneaded her breasts. He climaxed
much too quickly – for both of them – and she had no choice but to gulp down
his hot discharge as he withdrew. He cleaned his helm by wiping it across her
cheeks, smearing them with quick-drying spunk, then got off the desk and tidied
himself before going round to the other side.
A disembodied male voice came to them through speakers
that she had not yet glimpsed during all her sessions. Nor had she spotted
before the monitors that the other technicians watched.
“Great show, Dylan. Man, we enjoyed it in here!”
“Not as much as I did in here,” he laughed as he grabbed
the clips that still dug into her breasts and used them to pull her to her
feet. “Time to get on. Thanks to this stupid bitch we’re running late.”
He hurried round to stand behind the desk once more. He
operated a switch and there was a metallic shuddering sound as with a jolt one
of the scaffold-frames was separated from the others. Slowly, with a whirring
noise it began to move slowly away from the stack and along an overhead track. When
it came to a stop nearby, the technician took her elbow and guided her roughly
toward it, laughing as her steps were hindered by the spreader bar.
He made her stand with her toes curled over the pole that
formed the bottom of the frame. A chain hung from the centre of the top and
using the clip at the end, he attached it to a ring embedded in the top of the
skullcap to keep her head upright. He unfastened her hands and dragged up her
arms, before using the chains that hung from the top corners and the attached
leather wrist restraints to secure her hands in position. Next, he removed the
spreader bar and anchored her feet in place by using similar chains and
restraints in the bottom corners. He wrapped a protective covering over her
collar so as not to damage it, then moving his hands rapidly he made her scream
with renewed pain as he plucked the clips from her nipples and labia, leaving
neat little puncture marks. Without speaking to her again, he returned to the
desk where he flicked the switch that set the frame moving along the track
again. On the conveyer belt the blue training rope moved at the same rate,
disappearing through the special opening as in the nick of time the partition
folded back to allow her to enter the next room. Behind her the partition
closed again.
Her surroundings were as frigid and clinical as
reception, and at first glance there seemed to be nothing in the room apart
from a white-walled booth. As she moved jarringly along the track, another
technician appeared with a hand-held device. By depressing a button, he stopped the frame. With
a leer he approached her and in a way that was as cold and clinical as the room
itself he examined her, pushing his fingers first into her clutching vagina,
and then withdrawing them roughly and driving them without lubrication into her
rectum.
“Aaaaargh!”
“Bit tight there today,” he said as he plucked his finger
free from her back passage. Moving round to stand in front of her, he pulled a
face of mock concern. “I’ll have to have a word with Mistress Adria, see if she can’t get that loosened up a bit for me. You
see, I’ve booked your services for an evening drive. I thought we might head
off across country and take a picnic.”
While it sounded lovely, Tegan knew that what he really
meant was that she would be bridled, with a dildo up her backside to hold the
tail proud, and harnessed between the shafts of the big-wheeled traps and would
wait for him to come across the stable yard with a specially prepared picnic
basket. Then while he sat in comfort with the basket beside him, he would whip
her constantly to run her heart out as he drove her on, pulling the trap until
he decided she should stop, after which he would hitch her bridle to a tree
while he sat in the grass with the picnic basket which would probably contain a
bottle of something alcoholic for himself along with his edible treats, and a few
implements of discipline with which to amuse himself with her while she
remained in harness. If she were lucky, she might get a drink of water and a
lump of sugar before they headed back.
“How do you fancy that, Tegan?”
“Very much, Master Freud,” she answered since she had no
choice in the matter anyway.