Pain.
That was the name of the game, thought Phyllis as she suppressed a groan of agony. That
was all these bastards wanted: pain. My pain.
The kidnapped sorority sister had been fixed up in a manner that would ensure discomfort
edging into pain as time wore on, but just her restraints were not enough for the two men
who held her captive. First off, she had been dragged from her cage while half asleep
that morning, and taken into the room next to the cages where she had been tortured the
day before. In her cage she was naked, her wrists crossed and bound behind her back, and
her ankles tied together, also crossed. She had found that the best way to sleep was on
her stomach with her legs bent at the knees because the cage was not long enough to allow
her to fully stretch out.
The large room they took her into combined the impersonal, sterile aspects of a research
laboratory with the equipment of a dungeon. There were no windows, no photos or paintings
or other decoration upon the bare walls. One wall was lined with strange looking
electronic equipment, files and two desks with computer terminals. The rest of the room
was given over to the traditional devices of the Spanish Inquisition: pillory, stocks,
whipping post, and other devices not so easily named but designed to inflict pain and
agony upon the female form.
The day before, they had bound her to the round wooden post, then whipped her bottom
until she felt as if her poor flesh had been torn to ribbons. It was to her surprise when
she was taken back to her cage and able to explore her rear end with her fingers, only to
find the flesh swollen and sore with ridges where the whip had touched, but unbroken. As
the younger one slowly whipped her, spacing the blows out across her whole bottom and in
time, the other one took notes. From the few comments they made, she gathered that they
were establishing her pain tolerance. At least, to that wicked little black whip they
used. Never had Phyllis experience such pain. Her bottom had been spanked many times,
even hit a few times with a belt, but never with an honest whip designed to inflict pain.
That was far worse than anything she had every experienced at the sorority, even during
their rougher games.
This morning, she was set down in a chair in the dungeon part of the lab, a metal chair
bolted to the floor and lacking arms. The younger guy knelt down to untie her ankles. As
he did, Phyllis looked around nervously. There was that terrible pole that had held her
so solidly while this bastard wailed away on her ass. The pillory suggested prolonged
agony for a girl left in it all day. Phyllis knew how uncomfortable it could become when
enforced immobility was your lot. She had often spent a few hours in some tight rope
bondage in the sorority basement, or even in her own room. And there was that special
chair in the basement - the one with the dildo in the middle of the seat, the chair that
held each girl very firmly, but very pleasurably.
The man took the ropes off her ankles and stood up. As he did, Phyllis, in a wild moment
of desperation, stood and brought her knee up as hard as she could into his crotch, a blow
that, had it landed, would have disabled any man. Fortunately for him, the blow did not
connect with its target. Instead, her knee struck his thigh. He had been expecting
something like that.
“That was a mistake,” he told her calmly. “Our experimental subjects are expected to be
well behaved at all times. If not, they are punished to enforce proper behavior.” He
pushed her back down into the chair. “You stay there,” he commented. Then he casually
walked over to that pole where she had been lashed the day before and dropped the rope
next to it. He selected several more lengths of rope from a cabinet and brought them over
to where she sat nervously watching him.
Phyllis was scared. Her ill-advised attempt at freedom had gained her nothing, expect
perhaps a punishment. But after the whipping of yesterday, she had to wonder what he
meant by “punishment” and what it would be like. She cast a glance at the door through
which they had brought her. And the door at the other end of the room. Did freedom lie
beyond? Could she dash for it, open it with wrists still bound behind her, and be out
before he caught her? Unlikely.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, his back turned to her as he tossed the ropes next
to the pole. “The doors are locked. Only the Professor and I can open them.”
Phyllis felt her heart sink. “Please...” she began. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“You are an experimental subject. We are exploring the limits of human female endurance
of and tolerance to pain. And other aspects of that general problem. The Professor is a
brilliant and respected scientist. Together we are pushing back the frontiers of
knowledge in the area of pain.”
“But why kidnap me?”
He laughed. “You are rather stupid. Do you think it’s easy to get volunteers? You had
a little taste of the experiments yesterday. Do you think most women would offer their
bodies for such experiments?” A very evil grin came over his face as he added, “And
experiments far worse than a little whipping.”
Phyllis whined in fear. This could not be happening to her! It was a nightmare.
“The police will be looking for me,” she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“Please, don’t go through that whole spiel. I’ve heard it from the others. First you’ll
threaten me with the police. Then you’ll tell me that you’ll escape. Then you’ll tell me
how rich your father is and that he’ll gladly pain any ransom. All of which makes no
difference. I have all the money I want, there is no way the police will ever find this
place, and escape is impossible. Now shut up.”
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