Prologue
The thick leather hood suddenly descended, leaving Rachel in total darkness.
Roughly she was pressed forward in her original position. The collar tightened around her
throat, too tightly, defining her husband’s control over her. The lock clicked with
finality. She pulled against the chain futilely, resigning herself to more hours kneeling
in total darkness.
She reviewed the visions, one by one, etched permanently in her mind; remembered
every word Raymond had spoken describing the pain machines and their capabilities. She
felt the core flame expand and grow in her belly. She shivered slightly, in ecstasy,
looking forward to his new torture chamber, happy to be coming home.
She had learned at the Pony Farm. The things she had learned would be - to Raymond
- secrets, to be dragged from her screaming lips by the apparatus she had seen pictured
all too briefly. Raymond would have his fun, while she revelled in her total submission.
She faced more hours in the box until his anger was expended, hours that would be filled
repeatedly with graphic details of each machine that awaited her.
Chapter 1 - The Ride Home
The retribution was not long in coming. In her heart of hearts, Rachel welcomed her
punishment as her due, earned by freely submitting to another man. It was not the first
time her submissive nature had played her false. Raymond knew this, and used it to make
his punishments and tortures that much more exquisitely painful. She didn’t need to have
things spelled out for her. Her one task was to endure, to egg him on to even more
severity in a vain and hopeless effort to gain the slightest remission.
Her fate began with the sudden slackening of the chain to her collar, telling her
the lid of the box had been opened. Despite the hours already spent, she knew they were
not back home. She expected nothing less than to be tortured endlessly in her cramped box.
She was certain that he would take the long and slow route, finding every rock and rut
that would jolt or shake her prison.
She was pulled to her feet with a rough strength that fed her premonitions. She had
visualized bad. This was worse - much worse.
“You’re too damn comfortable,” he growled in her ear, loud enough for her to hear
it clearly through the heavy leather of the hood.
She felt the collar suddenly loosen about her throat. She drew a breath loudly.
“Enjoy it, trollop! You will soon be begging for air at my pleasure!”
She heard a clang, metal hitting rock. Before she could place the noise or react,
her husband gave her the bad news:
“You don’t deserve even a slave’s collar. You will wear a belt. I enjoyed planning
every detail in the long hours that you failed to provide companionship. I imagined every
possible attachment while I slowly stroked my cock. I had ample time to construct them,
test them and refine them. Time you will pay back, second by painful second. I promise you
that you will scream, knowing that screaming is a forbidden pleasure, wilfully disobeying
my orders.”
He slapped her hooded head. The unexpected blow caught her by surprise and she
nearly fell across the edge of the box, her heavy chains dragging her down. The blow
wasn’t hard, but it was enough to destroy her sense of balance.
As she recovered, she both heard and felt a bucket full of something hitting her
legs as Raymond poured. He added weighted nipple clamps, batting the weights with his hand
to demonstrate how their nasty teeth would dig into her nipples. He pushed her down on a
butt plug that opened her without mercy. Her sensitive knees identified rice, rock salt
and wood screws covering the bottom of the box. The straps were re-fastened, a notch
tighter. She felt new straps taut across her chest above and below her swinging breasts.
Her ankles were imprisoned in the wooden stocks, and more straps at the sides and below
pinned all of her body above her knees in mid air. The web of straps was cunningly devised
to torment her with the slightest movement of the box.
She detected movement as a battery pack was attached to the box and wires from the
butt plug were connected to it. Raymond touched a mercury switch and Rachel tried to climb
straight up out of the box, to Raymond’s immense enjoyment. He added wires to the nipple
clamp weights. When he pushed them together, Rachel repeated her futile attempt to become
airborne. When she settled back down, he played with the weights again, laughing at her
instant and frantic reaction.
He put his mouth down beside her hooded head and smirked, “Have a pleasant trip.”
While the submissive in her makeup let out little yips of excitement, the rest of
Rachel’s brain was assessing the damage. ‘Worse’ suddenly became ‘Much Worse’ and for the
first time she began to have doubts that she could make it through the coming weeks and
months. Resigned, she fell back on taking things one day at a time. But her revved up
brain didn’t see it that way. She was repeatedly warned, not only of his words - hints and
threats - but the equipment that awaited her in his dungeon. Her brain repeated and
repeated the photos, a ghastly slide show. Her stomach was growling and roiling and she
could taste the bile in her mouth.
Her chief concern at the moment was his reaction to her having become another man’s
slave. Earlier in their marriage there had been a somewhat similar incident when she had
been ordered by a friend of her husband - who knew of their lifestyle - to give him a blow
job. The question had never come up before, so Rachel assumed he had Raymond’s approval.
He didn’t, but she, the slave, got the blame and suffered the extended punishment session
that followed. To make matters worse, the friend was on hand to watch much of her
discipline but never said a word to take credit for his guilt. She suspected he had
confessed to her husband, but it had not slowed Raymond’s whip hand one iota.
This time, she knew she didn’t have permission and had been warned repeatedly that
she was in big trouble. As he liked to do, he had made sure she would know some of the
things he planned on doing to her. They were bad enough, but it was the ‘surprises’ that
she feared the most.
The pony girls hauling the cart were anxious to get back to their tent, but Raymond
showed no interest in pleasing them. He switched the two ponies that were tied to the rear
of the cart and with fresh ‘horsepower’ started out.
Rachel’s forecast that they would take the roughest roads was immediately
confirmed. Raymond had instructed the ponies to follow the roughest track they could find.
Inside her box Rachel was half convinced that she was on the deck of a ship, weathering a
bad storm. Every bump was magnified a dozen times and the worst ones tossed her about like
a rock rolling down a steep hill.
The trail crossed a highway; nestled in one corner of the junction was an upscale
restaurant. Without a word he tied the reins to a small tree and walked across the road to
enjoy a time consuming seven-course meal. Nearly three hours later he returned, ran a car
full of teenage boys off, untied the ponies without a word and continued on his
slow-motion journey.
Rachel was having fits. She had no idea where they were. She could very faintly
hear cars driving by, but that was all. Both her legs were cramping and her handcuffed
wrists were little better off. Her knees screamed a steady dirge of pain; even an
involuntary flinch would add stabbing pains to her woes. Her sphincter was numb from the
repeated surges of current and she fervently wished her nipples would fall off, rather
than take another jolt of electricity. His cruel “Have a pleasant trip” echoed and
re-echoed in her mind.
Moving was worse. The unsprung cart jolted and jerked, throwing her around in the
box, bumping into the sides. She mumbled plea after plea for mercy, each lost in the
leather plug gagging her mouth. She fixed her brain on cursing her husband, abandoning the
idea when she realized he would wring each epithet from her, as willing to punish her for
thinking it as if she had actually said it. Drawing on his sense of humor, he had her list
every name, prohibiting her from saying them. ‘Bastard’ and ‘Son of a Bitch’ led the list.
She grimaced when she realized that she would soon be making a list of names to go
with ‘Whore’ and ‘Street Walker.” Raymond would punish her for even knowing the words and
would punish her every time he used one of them, which would be often. He would also
punish her for every one she failed to list.
As with the names, she would have to memorize the list along with the numbers. She
had dealt with lists before. Raymond liked to deprive her of sleep, then let her sleep for
a few minutes, waking her with a loud siren and then requiring her to immediately repeat
the entire list. It was just one of Raymond’s methods of setting her up for punishment.
Rachel-Sub loved it. Rachel hated it.
The moon was full, ample light to see even the rough track they were following.
Rachel was exhausted from fighting her bonds and trying to absorb the repeated shocks of
wheel on rock. Raymond swapped ponies again, putting the rested girls into the harness to
tow the cart. He thoroughly enjoyed the moonlit ride, but his mouth cramped in annoyance.
He wanted Rachel across his lap, so that he could drive with one hand and play with her
nipples and clit with the other. One more black mark for Rachel, who was worn out from
resisting the jolts and jars and who would be months away from his lap, or any other
significant contact.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the movement stopped, grunting as the nipple
weights punished her one last time. She cringed, expecting the butt plug to bid her a fond
farewell. It came, but only after she had expelled the breath she was holding. Raymond
held the remote firmly, pressing the button until the light went out as the batteries
finally died.
She cocked her head, trying to listen, but Raymond denied her even that slight
knowledge, silently unhitching the ponies and leading them to waiting stalls in the barn.
She heard what might have been a metal hoof striking a rock, but that was all. The silence
was deafening. She drew deep breaths, trying to avoid hyperventilating. Knowing Raymond,
he would probably punish her for trying to alleviate the problem.
Without warning her box was sliding across the bed of the cart, and then lowered,
dropping half a foot with a tooth jarring thud as it hit the ground. The key ground in the
lock endlessly before it opened. He welcomed her home with his whip as she hung helplessly
in the box. Her hood came off, allowing her to see her husband for the first time. But
there was a second hulking figure standing beside him. Rachel gasped, knowing that he
spelled trouble. Raymond saw her reaction and chuckled. There were more surprises to come.
The two men took their time unfastening her from the box, feeling her up as they
went. By the time the last restraint fell away Rachel was back to wishing her nipples had
fallen off back at the Pony Farm, or any place in between.
She started to stand on tottering legs, but a hand restrained her.
“You crawl.” The order was given just as the box was tipped violently on its side,
throwing her to the gravel drive. She gathered her strength and obeyed, but not quickly
enough. The zinger she got from the big hulk was easily twice as hard as Raymond’s usual
strokes.
A boot stepped on her hand, less than gently, as she climbed the front steps.
“Before you enter, there are new house rules.”
Raymond enjoyed the look of consternation on her face as she listened.
“You are under house arrest for a period of one year and a day. You will not leave
the house, or open a door or a window at any time, for any reason. You will not even look
out the windows. I’m sure you are familiar enough with my discipline to realize what the
penalties will be like for disobeying.”
“You are never to stand, anywhere in the house. For now, you will crawl on your
belly. You will have to earn getting up on your hands and knees.”
“You will remain on the Fat Farm diet, with daily weigh-in on an electronic scale.
You will be punished for ounces gained, not pounds. You went to the Fat Farm to lose 25
pounds. It is not a coincidence that the chain set you are currently wearing weighs
exactly 25 pounds. Since they are permanent, they will be weighed with you and you will be
expected to lose another 25 pounds before you even think of improving your edibles.”
“I don’t have the time or the desire to discipline you, so I have hired Roscoe as
your personal trainer. He will be in charge of your diet and your physical training. He
will expect to be ‘paid’ for his efforts, but I warn you, you’ll be in deep shit with me
if you do. You already have one adultery charge to work out, so don’t add a second one.”
Rachel didn’t need a road map to see where she was headed. She turned her head in
time to see Roscoe pick up her box like a feather and head for the house.
It was almost daylight before Rachel was allowed to kiss Roscoe’s feet. Raymond
spurned her, refusing to allow her to touch him. That didn’t stop him from giving orders.
“All right, get back in your box and enjoy the rest of the night.”
“I will not! I won’t get in that box ever again. You can’t make me!”
Rachel blew her stack, meaning every word, despite knowing the retribution it would
unleash. She was powerless in the grip of her claustrophobia.
Raymond laughed.
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