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Cruelty at the Top (Part1)


This work Copyright (C) 2001, by Caitlain McCarren. I
reserve all rights of distribution not otherwise expressly
granted herein.

Should you like my works and wish to add my story to your
collection, you are at liberty to do so for personal use as
proscribed by the Berne Convention and U. S. Copyright law
pertaining to fair use. In addition, electronic
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duplication to optical or magnetic media, and such other
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expressly forbidden. I, Caitlain McCarren, retain all
rights to such transmission.

In addition, this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to
or association with persons living or dead is coincidental.
I describe situations, which without proper care could cause
bodily harm or injury. Fiction is best left as such. Don't
attempt any of what is described herein without providing
utmost care and consideration before the fact.

To close, this story, while work of fiction, describes adult
situations. If you are not yet of the age of majority, or
if accessing, reading, possessing, or distributing material
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Cruelty at the Top:

Part 1
He swept me up, wrapped me in an unbreakable embrace and
waited for me to kiss him. We locked lips kissing deeply.
He said, "Anissa, I have an assignment for you."

I've heard that perhaps a thousand times over the past ten
years and it never seems to get easier no matter how many
times I've heard it. The problem of course is the source
of that phrase, Trev. He's a dirty double crossing skunk
who, if she were still alive, would sell his sainted
mother's home out from under her. In death he sold her
cadaver to the university as an anatomy subject. My aunt's
body added a whole $500.19 to his trust fund. My cousin's
an evil SOB who uses those around him like it's as natural
as breathing. I'm not exempt.

The hard part is that I just left him at our apartment on
Central Park West. Not only do I have to hear from him at
work, I have to live with the man I've come to loath over
these last ten years. I'm at once prisoner, slave, and
willing fuck-bunny. I can deny him nothing for I too am a
victim of his evil discoveries.

As a businessman and research scientist he frankly excels
and steadily he worked his way up through the ranks,
largely on merit, until the Board of Directors, of which
he'd been a member as our parents' proxy, asked him to head
up the company as CEO in July of '96. He now runs the
company our parents founded and is paid as chairman of the
board a quarter million a year plus stock options, and 2.5
million a year as CEO.

The strange thing is neither of us need work ever. Our
respective trust funds are chuckablock full of cash and it
grows at a rate of 10 to 13 percent per annum minimum. If
I spent mine at a rate of $100,000 a day I couldn't deplete
it ever. As it stands I'd have a hard time depleting it at
twice that rate. Our respective parents, co-owners in a
highly advanced pharmaceutical company, died in the same
airplane crash while over the Atlantic en route to St.
Moritz for a ski weekend. I was 18, he was 24, when they
plummeted out of the clouds into the ocean after the cabin
depressurized at thirty five thousand feet. They left us
roughly $500 million each when they died in February of

My assignment will be to either break up another marriage
or inveigle another unsuspecting woman to his stable. The
results are guaranteed, he'll win a woman, or impoverish
one whether guilty of infidelity or not. If not guilty he
has a foolproof method of inducing that infidelity and
guess who is in charge of arranging it, attending the
details, and capturing the incident on high speed film and

With results guaranteed you can imagine that my little
business is quite profitable for us both. I make the money
on the clear cut cases. He takes the profit on the
inducement cases as they're more lucrative.

"What does he have on me?" you may ask. Well, I'm
regularly forced to ingest the first of a binary drug that
our parents company developed in the late 60's. The drug
makes a woman acutely susceptible sexually to a male
pheromone associated with his desire for sex. The big
break-through came when the research lab found they could
synthesize the pheromone, and in quantity that frankly
could flood the world. The pheromone is tasteless and
clear as water which lends itself to inclusion in men's
colognes. The only trouble is there is no therapeutic
value to the drug combination, so the formulary was left in
the research files for fourteen years, until my cousin's
product review when he took over the research facility
after the death of my father.

After finding the research file he had a small amount of
the drugs synthesized and went looking for a subject to
prove the product. Unknown to me I was the lab rat on
which he experimented. I grew up in boarding schools in
France but recently took rooms at my aunt's home for a four
year stint at Columbia University in New York. For a year
he toyed with dosages finding all sorts of methods for
delivering the drug into my system while I became fond of
him, then enamored, then head over heals in love, never
realizing it was the pheromones to which I was attracted.

At some point in March of '83 he layed on a layer of
cologne and literally drove me crazy. Little did I realize
the cad was filming my antics when I approached him in his
favorite chair and literally would not take no for an
answer. He was only too pleased to deposit the semen
sample I requested for my "research" in my most appropriate
receptacle, of course. I became pregnant and aborted the
child: a big no-no for a girl raised Catholic and attending
church on a regular basis, a practice upon which he insists
I persist. Hard to create an ignominious end for one who
has no morals or social mores to extinguish. So, at
Trevor's insistence, I regularly attend Mass, I'm an avid
volunteer and benefactor of Catholic Charities, and a
member of the board of the Parish Council. In short I lead
a second life.

When I approached the age of twenty one he repeated the
experiment and armed with fresh footage of me begging to
suck him off, coerced me to sign the paperwork assigning
him as joint tenant on my trust fund. Needless to say, he
didn't reciprocate.

At the age of 21 I managed to give over my money, my
chastity, and my self-respect to Trevor. Still it wasn't
enough for him. Shortly after my birthday that May he sent
me to Paris for the summer to the charge of the corsetiere.
It was a pleasant flight in the new company jet, though a
little uncomfortable for the chains I was required to wear.
"I want to make it plain, Annisa, you're to co-operate with
the man at the other end, completely and without question.
I send Monica, my secretary, to accompany you. She has no
key to your bonds, so don't bother asking. She's
instructed to silence you should you pester her. Don't.

Of course I understood. He was blackmailing my compliance.
If I didn't comply he would publicly humiliate me revealing
my abortion to the world, then empty my bank accounts. I
would be ruined and broke. Ruined and broke is
insufferable for a trust fund baby without a fine arts
degree. With my money and reputation jeopardized I felt
there's no choice but to accede to my cousin's
requirements. I didn't realize until I arrived, and was
subsequently lashed to the lacing horse, what he had in
mind. The fitting for my punishment corset took me by
surprise. I was never out of site of the corsetiere or his
wife for the next three weeks.

After, I was granted the privilege of first supervised, and
then unsupervised, visits to the Louvre for study. I made
many contacts with art restorers and conservators. I
studied techniques of master photographic conservators.

When I became more comfortable with my stays and my body
took shape, I made purchase at the couturier to present
myself as a proper Parisian lady. I was a lovely 36-22-37
figure at that point and corseting begged for dresses and
heels. The corsetiere and his family approved

He had a teenage son who wouldn't take his eyes off me when
we were together. He invited me to his "futbol" games and
though I didn't make them all, I saw many. His social
standing was much improved by speaking with the pretty
"American" art student who looked so fresh and feminine.
To have me cheerleading was the height of his summer. If
his team won I'd give him a peck on the cheek. Another
boost to his self esteem that by the end of the summer made
him very desirable to "les fille."

At the end of my ten week summer visit many things had
changed, my waist only the first. It was much reduced from
28 to 20 inches through the gift of corseting. The
couturier altered my attire to the new measure, 36-20-37
inches. My bosom enhanced to a C cup. My posture

My knowledge of photographic restoration, preservation, and
conservation was positively manifold what it was before I

On my way back to America I couldn't help teasing the
corsetiere's son. That morning I asked what he thought I
should wear home to America. He selected a rather smart
dress that showed off all my new curves, of course. After
I dressed and packed I invited him back into my room to
thank him properly. I liplocked him a full thirty seconds,
quietly saying "Merci," under my breathe at the end. I
turned, grabbed my cases and strolled out of the room.

As I climbed into the cab he came to me, swept me into his
arms, and planted a kiss on me that was to die for. When
done I just smiled, said "Merci," and melted into the cab.
Barking out "L'aeroporte Orly, s'il vous plait," to the cab
driver, my clothes, my corsets, and my new knowledge were
on their way home. Little did I know that would be the
last innocent kiss, a kiss I'd given or received simply for
the pleasure, I'd ever experience.

"Anissa, can you hear me? I don't think you heard a word I
said," exclaimed Trevor.

"Huh, what? Oh, I guess not. What was that?"

"I said, I have an assignment for you. Where is your head
at. Try to pay some attention to this."

Truly, I could care less what the assignment was. More to
the point I knew what the assignment was. I didn't want to
accept the assignment. It wasn't my call. That's why they
call them assignments.

Monica was on the Plane when I boarded the flight home from
Paris. I stepped on board and was hit with a fifty-
thousand volt electric charge. Monica pulled the door
closed and dragged me to my seat. I was handcuffed to the
seat and strapped in. When the plane was well off the
ground I was released and given instruction, "Strip." It
was a really simple instruction. She, threatening me with
the stun gun, gave me little choice.

"Leave your corset on," she said. She walked forward and
locked the door to our section of the cabin. "Your brother asked me to see you through the next step of your training.
You are going to live with me at my apartment for the next
few months. If you're a good girl and do as you're told,
we may not need to interrupt your last year at Columbia.
You're required to do whatever you're asked, understand?"

"Yes," I replied.

She slapped my face. "Yes what?" she demanded.

"Yes, Monica?" I replied, more as inquiry.

She backhanded me this time. "You will address me as
Mistress, Mistress Monica, or, while we are in public, Miss
Monica. Understand?"

"Yes, ...Mistress," I answered weakly.

"Better," she retorted. "There are some rules. One, while
you are in my presence you do, not talk. If you talk out
of turn I will punish you. Two, I get to bind you anytime
I want, anyway I want, anywhere I want. When I bind you,
you are bound. If I even suspect you attempted to slip
bonds I will punish you. Three, I say, you do. I expect
you to comply immediately. Delay unnecessarily and I will
punish most severely. Four, you wear what I give you to
wear. Count yourself lucky that I allow you to wear
anything. Got it?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"You had better," she continued. "There will be other
rules, of course, but these will give you a good start."
She walked to and reached into an overhead bin. She pulled
down a large black box and handed it to me. "Remove the
contents and follow the directions. Put them on."

Inside the box were the highest heeled boots I'd ever seen.
They laced clear up my thighs. With them was the
obligatory pair of fishnet stockings and four satin garters
to attach the stockings to my corset. Fitting my feet into
the boots was neigh on impossible. I stomped endlessly to
force my feet into the narrow points that crushed my toes.
My first attempt to stand ended in my stumble to the floor
and a carpet burn on my forehead.

"Stay down, wench," she stated flatly. I didn't need to be
told twice. I just knew I'd fall again if I tried to
stand. She kneeled before me and, one hand at a time, taped
my fingers together. Standing up she reached back into
that bin and pulled down the next nondescript box.
Kneeling back down she ripped it open and working quickly
wrapped the collar about my neck. I heard the click of the
lock latching it in place. She latched two strong, fitted,
leather bands about my wrists with D-rings attached. "You
won't get those off without my help. Don't try!"

Then she surprised me. She put the stun gun away.
Obviously my surprise showed on my face. She just laughed.
"Won't need that with you bound the way you are. All I
need is this little red button." Then, as she pressed it,
"See!" The glee on her face was counterpoint to the fear
in my eyes. My body wracked under the electrical
stimulation from the collar around my neck. I twitched and

When the shock ended I attempted to do something totally
natural under the circumstances. I reached up and clawed
at the collar. It immediately constricted around my
throat. It cut off my air for what seemed to me to be an
eternity. When it released I did what came naturally,
again. Again, it throttled me, and didn't let up as I
continued to slap at it with my taped hands. My view of
her grinning visage first greyed, then narrowed, then
blanked as I went into that exhausted inky blackness of

I came to with a headache to end all headaches. There was
no acute pain, but the cumulative effect was debilitating.
She was lacing down a sleeve binding my arms together my
elbows to my wrists. "I forgot," she said, "don't try to
touch the collar, it chokes you." I hurt too much to fight
any further. Feeling tired, and pained, and impotent I
just let her do her worst. I lay my head on the carpet and
let the tears flow, sobbing quietly.

Finished binding my arms, she rolled me over and I propped
myself up on my elbows. While she connected a ball and
chain between my ankles, locking the twelve pound weight to
each boot with a padlock between the chain and D-Ring sewn
into the seams at each ankle. It left me with a nine-inch
step, which on these heels was undoubtedly more than

From behind the counter she retrieved a short apron and
tied it around my crushed waist. The apron barely covered
my genitalia. Bound as I was, should anyone want a look,
nothing I could do would prevent it. The small amount of
cloth used in the apron added more to my embarrassment then
leaving it uncovered would ever do. I knew everyone would
wonder what was happening there because they wouldn't see,
but, all that need be done was lift it away and all was

Of course my baby smooth ass was left hanging out where
everyone would caress or molest it, at their discretion and
leisure. I hoped that everyone was Monica. In the back of
my mind, what was left that is, a nagging fear made it
plain that wasn't to be the case. The thought left me
cold. Maybe the shock left me cold. The thought made me
hot as my body betrayed me as it had only in the presence
of Trevor. Then it struck me. "Monica, that is a lovely
perfume. May I ask the..."

"That's Mistress, or Mistress Monica, to you, you dumb
cunt. You realize I have to punish you for forgetting to
address me properly. You really that stupid?" she asked.

My measured reply, "I was this time, Mistress."

"Don't let it happen again, subsequent failures are
punished much more severely than initial failures." She
reached over my shoulders with an ice cube in hand and
dabbed it at my right nipple, wetting it then rubbing it
round and round. With her other hand and another ice cube
she repeated the process on my left. She dropped what was
left of the ice in her right hand in my navel and climbing
over my right shoulder slipped her wet lips over my right
nipple and sucked gently on it sending shivers straight to
my groin. Hot and wet on the right, cold and wet on the
left, the dichotomy was delicious and it was making me very
wet down there. "Does that feel good, wench?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Are you hot?" she asked.

I replied "Yes, Mistress."

"Are you wet?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress!" I squeaked.

"Let me see!" she cried with glee as she lifted the apron.
"My, my, you are the lovely little slut your brother says
you are!" She stuck a finger in there and rummaged around
and when her nail scraped next to my cervix I squirmed.
She pulled it then held it out to me. I knew what was
expected. I took it in my mouth and licked it clean then
sucked it dry as she withdrew it.

"Cousin, Mistress. He's my cousin." I said.

"He is whatever I say he is," she screamed, grabbing my
nipples, one in each hand, and squeezing them hard.

"Aaaaaaaaaghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" I screamed at the absolute
top of my lungs. After the scream I rolled on my side. It
hurt. It hurt a lot. It made me horny as all hell. That
smell of sex? I exuded it now.

"Just imagine, wench, what a subsequent punishment might be
like. Hmmmmm?" she taunted. "I do so like this. I could
do this again anytime. Now if a want. Do I want?"

Involuntarily I rolled over in an attempt to protect my
sore nipples. "No, please, Mistress! It hurts so much!"

"Roll back to me, wench!" she commanded.

I hesitated only a moment before complying. When I did she
pinched them hard again. I cried out my agony, or my
ecstasy, I couldn't decide which, "Oooooowwwwwwww!" The
tears rolled from my eyes, down my cheeks, and over my
breasts. The waves of passion fulfilled washed over me,
again and again.

"That was for hesitating to obey my command! New rule,
wench. You are never to deny me access to any part of that
body again. I can look at anything, touch anything,
caress, or otherwise poke, prod, or probe, any surface or
orifice. I can do it anywhere, anyway, and anytime I want.
I own it until I give it over to another. Do you un-der-
stand me, wench?" she asked.

Quickly, gasping it out, I reply, "Yes, Miss... Mistress, I
under... under... understand, Miss... Mistress." The tears
continued to flow though the waves only echoed now. Tide
was going out! Only the pain of her attacks remained. The
orgasm wasn't worth the price I paid.

"Very well, see to it you do better. Stand up!" she

I rolled back over on my stomach and pulled my knees under
me. I pushed up with my shoulders and pulled my body up
with my back, brushing my abused nipples on the carpet
renewing their agonizing pain. I struggled to my feet,
teetering on the extreme heels but finally managing to
stand. From behind the bar she brought back a gilt serving
tray with a strap that she used to tie it to my waist. It
was constructed so it acted as a shelf with the standards
pushing against my hips.

"Do those nipples hurt, wench?" she asked.

"Yes... Yes, Miss... Mistress!"

"Would you like me to anesthetize them so they won't hurt
so much?" she queried.

Innocently I replied, "Yes, please, Mistress!"

She pulled out a small velveteen covered jewel box and
showed it to me. Turning it to me she lifted the lid and
revealed two silver nipple clamps. The chains attached ran
out to where they were hidden under the flocked insert.
Removing the clamps, insert, and chains, she separated all
and holding one in each hand revealed them fully. "Behold
the anesthetics. You asked. Hah!"

I had. I closed my eyes, stifled a cry of horror, and
waited for her to clamp them on. Because of the rule I
dared not move away and bound as I was I could hardly cover
them over. I waited, and waited. Then I heard her across
the cabin on the intercom. I slit open an eye and
confirming her location in relation to mine opened them and
felt relief, though I knew it to be short lived.

"How long 'til Reykjavik?" she asked. Though I heard an
answer it was so low of amplitude as to be indeterminate
from where I was. "That all? Time flies when you're
having fun I guess. What was that? No, Miss Brehyer will
be fine. Yes that is correct. You understand perfectly,
do not under any circumstance reveal to any of our boarding
guests her presence. If it's necessary I'll do that. Yes,
a high-level business negotiation. No, you're not to
intercede under any circumstance. Very good!" She hung
up. "We'll be entering Icelandic airspace momentarily,
wench. Come here. Sit!"

I hobbled along to where she indicated and collapsed into
the galley's jump seat. She strapped me in with the seat
belt. She drew the curtain to the galley and went out only
to come back a moment later carrying a small bottle of
perfume. She's going to douse herself in the stuff, I just
knew it. I don't think she comprehended the power it gives
her. "Mistress Monica?"

"I haven't the time, wench. Whatever it is the answer is
no," she replied.


"But what!" she exclaimed. "Shut up, wench!

I didn't press any further. She took off her suit coat,
setting it on the counter. She unbuttoned and removed the
skirt and did the same for the blouse. She hung them on a
hanger placing the hanger on the rod in a storage
compartment. From the compartment she removed a black
sequined gown. Putting the hanger back on the rod she
closed the door. She wore a body shaper under-all, and
black hose in black patent heels. She wore no garters.
Holding the dress out she stepped through. Zipping it up
the back and climbing through the spaghetti straps, she
polished it off with a healthy dose of perfume from the

As I thought, it was the same she'd worn all day. It took
me back a few years to my mothers memory. I breathed
deeply. I became amazingly horny. It seems intoxication
comes in more forms than she realized.

"Isn't that odd? Trevor said you would like this scent.
Why?" she asked.

"It was my mother's, Mistress. Did he give it to you?"

"No, he just said you'd like it. Strange coincidence,
though." she answered.

I just smiled and said, "Happenstance, I suppose." She was
so close. I was so... affected. I'd have fucked a bedpost
right then. If only one were available! That absolute
fucker, Trevor! He saw to it that not only was I to be
disciplined, but that I was to be disciplined by my mother!
It might as well have been, I so strongly associated that
scent with her. Just another of those psychological slams
he loves to play. It seemed I was doomed to confuse Monica
with my mothers ghost. I don't remember mom making me
horny ever. Now I would always associate her with being
sexually tormented. God, All Mighty, I was so horny. So
wanting. Soon to be so wanton. I wanted to die. I
thought I could of utter embarrassment. I flushed a very
nasty shade of red. My heart rate shot up. I'm sure my
blood pressure was quite abnormally high. She would figure
out the association between the scent and it's affect, but
I determined she'd not learn of the reason for the affect
from my mouth.

"Seems that for at least the next three months, I'm your
mother now, wench," she said.

I just cried.

The intercom buzzed. She reached through the curtain and
brought the handset back through holding it to her ear.
"Yes?... Landing? How soon?... Very well. Thank you."
She hung it back up without turning her head from me. "We
land in moments. There's one more piece of equipment to go
with all this. I haven't brought it out yet. You can
decide if you want it. It's a discipline hood. It will
isolate you further, that's the bad news. It will cover
your face though... "

I took only a moments thought, "I'll accept the hood if it
please you, Mistress."

She opens up with, "It is not about whether it pleases me.
If you start down this road, the road of anonymity, you
will wear this all the time. Your anonymity will give me a
tool to use against you. At the very least I can threaten
to expose you. If you don't wear it you will at some point
be recognized, of course. The shame will be incredible and
shame is also a tool I will use. Either way I get what I
want. You decide how you want it to go."

I repeated, "I'll accept the hood if it please you,

"Very well." she replied.

"Mistress?" I squeaked.

"What is it, wench?"

"Is there a towel... for this puddle I'm producing on the
seat, Mistress?" I ask.

"When we land." she replies. Taking the other jump-seat
she buckled in and held her extended right index finger to
her lips and mouthed the "shhhh."

I closed my eyes and noted my excretions drying under me.
I remember wondering would they glue me to the plastic
chair. The landing was without event. She stood when we
stopped and picked the intercom handset off the wall cradle
and spoke. "Have the tower refuel us before our passengers
leave the terminal. What? Yes? Yes! By all means de-ice
the wings. Will this be a problem over the Atlantic? Very
well captain, proceed, and please notify me of any changes
of arrival time at the next destination."

"Now dear, back to your needs. You leaking? Blood?"

"No Mistress, I'm not menstruating and I'm not due soon.
Your ministrations earlier have me rather hot and bothered
and I'm afraid I've made quite the... mess?" I said.

"Oh really? Who'd of thought you'd like it rough. You a
pain slut?" she asked.

"It is not my preferred method of foreplay, Mistress. It
appears it works though." I didn't want to even hint at
the fact it was her perfume. I knew I was setting a
dangerous precedent, letting her think it was entirely the
pain that had me juicing the seat. At least partially that
was what it was. It was the first thing I thought of. She
went to the sink and wet a towel from the rack. She came
back and released my seat-belt.

"Stand. Turn and kneel before the seat," she commanded. I
complied as she held the retractable seat open. She ran
the warm cloth over my wet ass and the backs of my thighs.
I turned back over my shoulder to give her a grateful look,
but she commanded, "Face front. Lick up all the love juice
in the seat and if any escapes while you lap it up, kitty,
be sure you slurp it up from the floor."

My face flushed, then my chest and breasts. The thought
filled me with disgust. Still I hesitated just a moment
remembering the last time I hesitated to perform at a
command. It was salty but by this time cool. It was icky.
It stuck to the end of my nose and to my chin. The thought
of what I was forced to do had me gagging. My blush
deepened and the heat rose from my body.

Of course between her presence and the activity, my vagina renewed its lubrication task with remarkable vigor. "Seems
humiliation does it to you too," she commented. The
embarrassment only caused it to flow all the faster. Seems
Trevor was right about my status as slut. Every word from
her lips seemed to feed my need and desire. I felt awful,
embarrassed, humiliated, horny! I was picturing the guests
coming aboard seeing me do this and redoubled my efforts to
clean it up lest it actually occur that they should.
"Seems you're taking to slut training rather readily," she

Finally I finished slurping the last from the seat and
lapping it clean. She used the wet towel to wipe down the
seat while I checked the floor dutifully for what may have
leaped from my face. Finding none I erected myself as best
I could to prevent what flowed down my thigh from falling
to the floor.

She retrieved a dry towel from the rack, and reopening the
chair which had closed automatically when released, placed
the towel in it. "Stand, wench," she commanded, "feet
apart." She wiped what was redeposited on my thighs saying,
"Could be interesting to watch you attempt licking up this,
too!" Satisfied at the cleaning she had done she said
quietly, "Turn, sit."

I complied, sitting on the dry towel. "If it is allowed,
Mistress, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, wench." She wrapped the seat belt
around me and latched it in place, snugged it down, then
clamped my nipples in her vise-like grip.

"Auughh! Huuuuuunnnhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" I exclaimed.

"Now, you may thank me. It better sound like you mean it,
too." she said.

"Unh, unh, unh, Thank... thank you... thank you, Mistress.
Ahhhhhhhh!" I said as she released them.

"You'd do well to learn to make that sound more convincing,
understand, wench?" she taunted.

"Yeehhhhhhhhhhhhs, Mistress," I gasped. The pain was
nearly unbearable.

She ducked out through the curtain and came back a moment
latter with ice. She used the ice to curb the fire on my
breasts. The blush on my chest was renewed. "You must
learn to obey my commands without hesitation, wench. If
you do you avoid this torment." Having cooled my hardened
nips she ducked back out returning with another nondescript
white box. "This will complete your costume. Ready?"

"No, Mistress," I replied. Then, resigned to my fate,
"Let's proceed anyway."

She tore open the box on the counter and removed what
appeared to me to be an old fashioned World War II gas
mask. She slipped it down over my head and fitted it close
to my face. Adjusting the straps in the back she locked it
in place with a padlock. It pinched my nostrils, forcing
me to breath through my mouth. The air in the mask, stale
and chemical, seemed hot. The perspiration began beading
on my forehead immediately. The mask was heavy. It was
hard to hold up my head. There were two glass lenses
through which to peer, but the apparatus of the mask made
binocular vision impossible. Seems I was destined not to
see how far away anything was tonight.

She showed me the clamps and then applied them. Slowly she
turned the screws and the pressure increased in my tortured
nipples. They throbbed at first, then that sensation
subsided as they went numb. They just tingled a little
after that. That is until she attached the chains between
the clamps and the outer corners of the tray she tied about
my waist. They were then stretched and the extension -
relaxation of the chains sent electric sensations from them
straight down to where I no longer needed stimulation. I
gave in and welcomed the sensations.

I think that is the moment I decided not to fight. That is
a decision I have long since regretted. To this day I go
hot when I'm in a condition of helplessness. You might say
that I'm a sexual submissive. I call it a professional
sexual victim. That wasn't the problem though. As far as
I was concerned the problem started when I began craving
it. Yes, definitely, when I wanted it, that is when I lost
myself. It's an addiction; an addiction as strong as
heroin. I was addicted to that sense of helpless
submission. I had to have it. If it wasn't provided by
Mistress Monica, then I invited it from Master Trev.
Fortunately for me they have never tired of controlling and
humiliating me.

Lately, however, as any addict with half a brain left will,
I've come to the conclusion that this is an unsustainable
condition. There is no doubt that I love being the way I
am. Yes, I'll admit it, I am a slut. I just came to
believe that if I continued in this life it would most
definitely kill me. That wouldn't be a problem either if I
didn't care. I just wasn't ready to say I didn't care.

It wasn't long after that our guests came aboard. She
stepped out beyond the curtain and moments later the smell
of diesel fuel invaded my nostrils and I felt a chill as
the cold air met my exposed skin. I heard her voice,
"Welcome aboard gentleman. Please step in and warm
yourself. If you'll be seated we'll take off momentarily.
Yes sir, just inside the door. Here sir, let me stow that
in here. It will be here when you leave."

Then she moved inside the cabin. "Gentlemen, please be
seated. If you'll latch and adjust your seat belts we'll
depart shortly for Toronto where there will be a short
layover. We'll be joined there by Mister James. From
Toronto we proceed to New York and negotiate on the way."

From then on I just heard small talk and her murmured
replies to queries. Soon we were taxiing back to the
flight line and shortly were back in the air. I sat
straight, there was little choice in the matter. I felt
helpless, hopeless, impotent. The air inside the mask was
still hot and the pores of my face weeped. The salt of my
perspiration stung my eyes so they weeped. At this point
the only thing dry was my throat. Soon enough I heard
excited whispers and I just knew I would make my debut.

I wasn't disappointed. Moments later she walked through
the curtain and released my lapbelt. "Stand, wench!" she
commanded in a whisper. Having learned the lesson well I
complied immediately, jumping to attention. The tray moved
and the chains tugged and my excretions continued. She
wiped me down with the towel one last time and nudged me
out past the curtains on my heels.

I turned toward the men and saw ...nothing. At least I
didn't see the men for the mask. Oh boy, I could certainly
hear them. There were wolf whistles and cat calls. There
were cries of "Oh, my," and "Whoa, baby." Mistress pushed
me along to the bar. Her cry of, "Gentlemen, the bar is
open. What's your pleasure?" was met with "That little
filly between my knees," and, "That serving wench and a
good single malt scotch whiskey," and the like.

At the bar Mistress made the drinks and set them on the
tray at my waist. The tray tipped out and the chains
tightened and my nipples ached all the more. "Take the
drinks to the gentlemen, wench. Don't be surprised when
they feel you up, darlin'," Mistress Monica commanded. I
renewed my blush and obliquely made my way over to the
gentlemen dragging the ball behind. I couldn't be direct
because the mask prevented me from seeing straight ahead.
I stepped right twice. Stopped. Turned my other eye to
the men and took two steps left. I'm sure the whole
progression made me out to be incredibly coy.

The bonds had their effect on the men, too. None felt
inhibited about touching me. One kneaded my ass before
taking his drink. Another tugged at one of the chains at
my nipples. A third grabbed a fistful of my left breast
and pawed it most effectively. The last hooked a chain so
I wouldn't move then alternately rubbed, slapped, and
kneaded my ass. All the manhandling maintained my high
level of arousal and my lubricating effectiveness was amply
demonstrated when one was curious enough to lift the apron.
"Hey, fellas', check this out. The pussy juice gushes.
Look at that clit. That is the reddest and fullest I've
ever seen. Monica, dear, you worked her up well before we
boarded, didn't you?"

"Actually, Hank, I didn't do much. This one's a natural.
You may not believe it but this is her first time,"
exclaimed Mistress Monica. "I thought it would be much
harder, but Trevor was right when he said this one would be
little trouble. We're still teaching her the rules but,
except for the usual where she forgets herself, she takes
to them rather well and tries very hard to please me."

"If this is her first time aren't you afraid of giving her
a swelled head spouting out that much praise?" asked

"Not at all. She knows what it will cost her to disobey,"
she stated matter of factly. For my part I was just happy
they weren't wearing cologne. They pawed, poked, and
probed and I moaned, cried, and squealed. It hurt when
they squeezed or pinched, but it also fed my lust. The
isolation of the bonds, the mask was obstructing my
breathing and I was sweating behind it, was leaving me
panicked. I was panting when the mask required I breath
deeply, slowly, and consistently to get the oxygen up
through the long tube off the end of the mask. Therefore I
was rebreathing my own expired carbon-dioxide and my pulse
raced. I felt fatigued. Even though four men were playing
with my body I felt helpless and ...alone. I didn't like
alone. I didn't like alone at all.

Alone I felt. No denying it. No escape from it. Strange,
knowing there were at least five people on the airplane and
feeling no connection to any of them. They were little
more than bodies on a public conveyance. My ability to
escape loneliness cut off by 8 ounces of rubber, glass, and
steel. This sense of isolation brought about by a simple
rubber mask. The freedom the men felt to molest me brought
about by the same mask. I asked one at a latter date.
Strange indeed. That sense of alone hasn't left me since.
I didn't like it. I still don't, but, I got used to it.

"Well gentleman, you've pawed her enough. It's time she
accept her restraints. Let her loose. She'll be back,"
Mistress said. "Wench, come here. Stand right here in
front of the bar." I complied as soon as the gentleman
freed me. Mistress removed the tray at my waist. I cried
out as each of the nipple clamps were removed and the blood
was allowed to flow once again. Standing there with my ass
hung out had me rather chilled. Mistress tied a rope to
the D-ring at the front of my collar. She drew the rope
over the bar and bent me over, tying the rope off to
something I couldn't see.

She came around the bar with more rope. She used it to tie
my legs apart anchoring them to the brass footrail supports
at each end of the bar. The rope at my neck tightened as
my legs spread and I discovered the D-rings true purpose.
As I righted myself the tension on the ropes increased to
the point that the electric switch, attached to the D-ring
at my throat, tripped and the collar bit and to trip the
switch off I used all remaining energy to launch my self
over the bar. I made it as far as the tethers on my ankles
allowed. I fought hard, twisting and squirming until I had
good purchase on the padded rail on top of the bar. To get
there I had to spread my legs obscenely wide. That didn't
seem to bother the gentlemen a bit.

"I thought you said this was her first time?" Queried the
one named Hank. "When did you teach her to do that?"

"Teach her to do what?" asked Mistress walking around the
bar to face me. She shortened the rope to prevent my
attempt to escape.

"Teach her to jump like that," said another.

Mistress said, smiling I'm sure, "I didn't teach her that.
She must have had her own reasons for that behavior.
Whatever do you think would prompt her to jump like that?
Perhaps she wants you to enjoy the much clearer view of her
cunt? Perhaps she invites you to inspect further these
recesses now exposed? Do you think she wants you to caress
then knead these globulous glutes? Like this?"

Oh, it felt really good. It felt good right up until she
slapped it. "Oh, gentlemen, did you note how her color
came up when I struck her. I think we just found our
activity for the evening. Allow me a moment to retire for
equipment. Don't you move wench."

The last comment was obviously gratuitous, she knew I
couldn't move. The position had me tensed in places I
didn't know I had muscles. The mask had me breathing wrong
and my corset and position made it hard to breath at all.
Just now breath was life, so I concentrated hard on it.
The problem came when I relaxed my legs. The bonds had me
tugging myself out of position when I relaxed my legs. The
problem of course is that while I was out of balance the
likely consequence was I would fall back, trip the switch
on my collar, and suffer the electric shock. I wanted to
avoid shocks, for obvious reasons. As a consequence for
otherwise avoiding the consequence, I periodically flexed
my tush to walk my hips back up the padded rail to relative
safety. That had to draw attention to me. I imagine it
looked as though I invited them to touch me; positively
begged for it.

"Gentlemen, I dug out these toys from the box in the
galley. For you a thumper. For you the crop. For you the
nine tail cat, and for you the tawse. I propose a
competition gentlemen. The one to go first is determined
by lot. The one to make her cum in the shortest period
wins the key to her body, if not her heart."

I'd like to tell you that what followed was the genesis of
my first orgasm based on the impetus of pain.
Unfortunately the gentlemen were unskilled and there was
only the pain. The men were not kind, laying into me with
the various instruments and raising welts until someone
drew blood. "Gentlemen, please, we must stop while I
render first aid to our unwilling wench," stated an
irritated Mistress Monica. "The intent gentlemen was to
frustrate the young lady sexually. I suspect that point
was lost to all of you."

Mistress dabbed at the wound with an unseen liquid which on
my most thoroughly scourged ass both chilled and burned.
She continued, rebuilding the bud of warmth at my groin.
Just as it seemed there was hope for a building orgasm
Mistress inserted a styptic in my open wound, stemming the
flow of blood. I jumped at the intense pain, triggering
the collar and extinguishing the flame of lust. I screamed
in pain and of my loss through the mask. That brought
nothing but chortles of laughter from the men.

Those peals of laughter cut me to the quick and planted the
seeds of my hatred for those who would inflict pain for its
own sake. "Now gentlemen, please, it is entirely rude to
laugh at another's pain." Seemed Miss Monica had little
use for them either. "Note gentlemen, how I built up her
expectation by stroking the very surfaces you all had so
brutally abused just minutes ago. When that bud of warmth
had her starting to juice again I used the pain of the
styptic pencil to quash it. That is the action we wanted
you to provide. Understand?"

I heard the knowing murmurs from those behind me. Mistress
began again with the fire and ice liquid on my derriere,
squeezing and kneading, touching and breathing, as she
sparked my seed of lust, again. Quickly my body betrayed
me. The unusual position, my lack of breath, my
trepidation that the men might be back to beat me, my open
pose, and my attention repeatedly drawn to Mistress
pleasuring me down there all conspired to fan the flames of
my glowing lust. Soon, it seemed to me to be just moments,
my lusts tripped over from glowing to flaming, then to
raging. Then she just stopped.

Oh, God, she just stopped. Instantly the warm fuzzy
feeling I had tipped over to utter, total, frustration. I
cried out unintelligibly. "That, gentleman, is the
reaction you should produce with your ministrations,"
exclaimed Mistress.

The gentlemen understood after the demonstration as they
themselves demonstrated on me. They teamed up after that,
and quadruple teamed I had no hope of relief. They would
slap me rhythmically with the thumper while tweaking my
nipples or swat me alternately on each thigh with the
tawse. If bored they just swung the cat at my corseted
body. You might think that it wouldn't hurt much with all
that leather and steel but, let me assure you it is bone
rattling painful. My natural lubrication worked as it had
only for Mistress earlier. I was thankful they hadn't
attempted to use the hard tail whip again, as it near
literally tore me up earlier.

The men worked at it about an hour. Other than a mildly
warm sensation in the pit of my stomach and a thoroughly
warmed over ass, they did little more for me after those
initial sparks. Finally, Hank stopped them all. "Fellas,
we're just flogging a dead horse here, and it's our fault,
too. Slow down and drop the whipping equipment until she
starts juicing again. You, get the ice bucket. Over the
counter. Yeah! Let me have a thick chunk. Good. Here,
honey, this should feel better." He ran the thick chunk
over my ass cheeks cooling down my hot, reddened, fleshy
gluts. It felt good. He melted the chunk until it rounded
and form fit my fleshy globes.

Having chilled my ass he brought the chunk around the
counter and rubbed my breasts and nipples with it. I
whimpered my approval past the mask. He was definitely on
the right track if he was to warm my sex. My pilot light
relit. He kissed my neck and started up the burner.
"Chas, check out her cunt. She starting to juice?"

"Yeah, It's wetting pretty good, Hank," replied Chas.
"Hey, give me that thing with the two tongues. What she
call it? Yeah, that's what I want."

"Just go slow, Chas," said Hank. Slow it was. About the
count of four and he would land another flick of the tawse.
First one thigh then the other. I began to simmer. The
two of them worked me up good. I don't know what the
others were doing, watching I suppose. That thought made
me a little hotter still.

"Remember, gentlemen, she's not to cum until I say," Monica
reminded them.

"We'll do our best to keep that from happening," said Hank.
"Maybe you should keep an eye on this. Let us know, you
know... tell us just when it looks like she will, so we
can back off a little?"

"OK, Hank!" said Monica, only too happy to take on the
supervisor's role. After that they took their cues from
her. The whip, the tawse, the crop, the thumper, all now
expertly wielded to bring me to the edge... and keep me
there. The torment was exquisite. They kept up for more
than an hour according to the gentleman I latter asked.
Then the buzz of the intercom. Monica walked across to
answer. "Yes. Now? Oh!, very well." She hung up. She
walked back. "Gentlemen, it seems we begin our decent into
Toronto. We'll need suspend these activities until we're
back in the air. Fortunately our urchin is well suspended
already. She'll not move from this spot while we conclude
negotiations. If you'll drop you're toys and seat
yourselves well see Mr. James in a matter of minutes. Once
business is concluded we come back to this waif's torment."
The men took their seats, buckling in.

With that ended my expectations, wants, and desires to cum.
Of course she left it open that the gentlemen might come
back if they were to conclude their business with Trevor.
In this way Trevor and Monica used me to shorten
negotiations and assure favorable disposition of their
deal. They also assured themselves that there would be
more than four living in anticipation of short duration of
negotiations. I knew Trevor would get what he wants. The
query was, would I?

The plane landed, was refueled, and de-iced. Trevor came
aboard and our plane took off. Negotiations, if you could
call them that, began in earnest. The murmurs were all I
heard. Monica came to me and began tweaking and kneading,
mostly to keep my embers from dying. When Trevor was
making some point he wanted emphasized Monica worked me up
so I would be instantly vocal at the very moment he needed
it. It was undoubtedly choreographed by them and though my
participation was less than willing, I was none the less
prompted by an appropriate tweak, poke, or prod to just the
"right" spot at just the right time.

As you might have guessed the negotiations went Trevor's
way. When ended, Monica stopped her ministrations and left
me wanting again. I was left wanting while Trevor
exchanged pleasantries with the four gentlemen. They had
drinks. They spoke further in that same low murmur that
frustrated my attempts to hear what they were talking

Matter of fact I was just plain frustrated. Here I was
bound open and totally exposed and to what purpose. I was
anxious. I wanted to cum! I tried to cry my desire past
the mask to draw attention. Little did I know how bad my
frustration would become. After an extended delay I was
approached. Whoever it was worked me up, bringing me right
to the edge. Juiced up, literally as well as figuratively,
I cried out, "Please, I want to cum. Make me cum, please!
I'm begging you, please!"

From a distance I heard Trevor say "Yes, Dear Heart, beg!
We do so like to hear you beg!" I heard laughter from the

I cried out my distress, "Aaaaauuuuuuuuuuugghhh!" They
just laughed all the louder. I pleaded softly, "Oh,
please. Please." The stimulation never stopped. My
ecstatic state never wavered.

From across the room came the query, "What are you willing
to endure?"

"Please, just let me cum," I cried.

"No," was the equally distant reply, though from another

Then from the previous voice, "What are you willing to
endure so we might allow you to cum, wench."

"Please!" I pleaded.

"Look here, wench, you are this close to convincing us what
a dumb cunt you really are. We will not ask you again.
What are you willing to endure so we might allow you to
cum!" The voice yelled out from across the plane.

Not thinking, or more to the point thinking with my twat, I
yelled, "I'd endure getting fucked by you if you'd let me

"Cute, wench. You're already fucked by me. For that smart
ass reply you may have to endure a lot more of this. What
do you think folks? We can do this for at least an hour
after we land, can't we?"

"Noooooooooo!" I cried. They had me, they knew it. I knew
they knew it. I just wasn't thinking ahead about what they
would do if I gave in. Aw hell, I can say it now, I was a
babe in the woods. I couldn't possibly have known of what
Trev and Monica were capable. Tentatively, I asked, "What
do you want? Right now I'd do anything I had to to cum."

I overheard them conferring at that. It was low and all I
could make out was a single term, "...close enough?" The
murmurs grew excited as a concensus was reached. "Well,
wench, we have this machine. It's new. Never been used.
Hell, never been tried. You'd be the first. Are you
willing to endure the machine so we let you come?"

"Yes! Yes! Anything!" I screamed through the mask. That
was all they needed to hear. It wasn't a moment latter
Monica was forcing this belt on me ...and in me. It filled
both voids down there. Slapped on, clapped on, tightened
down, and locked in place, they powered it up and I came,
and I came, ...and I came. It didn't stop. It was toe
curling, mind blowing, unmitigated bliss. My mind turned
inward and then whatever senses I had left me entirely. It
was bliss ...for the first ten minutes.

Of course they didn't let it stop at ten minutes! It was
at least 30 minutes before we landed. Then the gentlemen
deplaned. Then Trevor left. The pilots came out of their
cabin and spoke to Monica. "Miss Breyher?" they asked.
"Left with Mr. James," Monica said. "I'll be here a
little bit cleaning up and paying the 'entertainment.'
Care to take a swipe at it?"

They both did, delivering very healthy swats to my
backside. "Have the best of nights, you're in very good
hands, wench," out of one. "Yes, you couldn't be in better
hands," from the other. "Good night!" from them in unison.
"Ironic," I thought. "They're leaving, I'm still cumming!"
I laughed in a titter.

"Just what do you find so amusing, wench?" Monica asked.
I told her. We laughed together. "You're wicked. My
wicked little wench." We laughed again. "We may get along
after all, wench. Just remember who's boss." She changed
back into street clothes and called for the limo. While
she waited she massaged my ass and when it arrived she
continued, directing the driver to load the luggage while
she released me from my prostrate position.

Of course the belt remained firmly fastened, so even when I
could close my legs I couldn't stand on them. She threw a
towel over the driver's shoulder then had the driver throw
me over his shoulder. We all proceeded to the car, it was
cold, I was exposed. There she threw a towel down on the
leather seat and the driver threw me down on the towel.
The towel on his shoulder he threw in on top of me, then
closed the door. It began to warm immediately. I was
grateful. The belt continued to buzz. I continued to cum.

The driver drove. Mistress Monica smiled to her herself.
I cried. I came. Mistress Monica smiled to herself. The
lights changed. The streets passed. I cried. I came.
The car turned in under a brownstone building. I heard the
garage door overhead closed. I knew not where. Mistress
Monica was let out of the car. They came around to my
door, opening it. The driver reached in and grabbed the
towel in my lap and threw it over his shoulder again. Then
he reached in under my arms, still bound behind me, and
lifted me out. As if I were nothing more than a rag doll
he threw over his shoulder again. I remember wondering how
well hung he was. I remember thinking I'd probably find
out, the hard way.

Mistress Monica reached into the car and retrieved the
towel I sat on. It of course was quite wet. Holding it
away from her body she closed the car door. She conducted
us to a very large steel door in front of the car. Taking
down a key on a very large ring she turned the key in the
lock and swung the door open wide, pushing it back against
the wall. I remember panicking a little. Only jailors had
key rings that big. Monica was now my jailor. I struggled
a little when I saw the door with the shiny steel bars.
Bound as I was, there was little possibility of escape,
especially from a man with muscles as big as the ones on
which I now rested. But, I put on a show. It was
expected, neccessary even. Monica turned the key again and
the shiny steel bars rolled away.

The driver walked past Monica, past the door with the shiny
steel bars. The driver swung me off his shoulder and into
his other arm. I'm not sure swung is the word, flung is
more the word, like I was little more than a side of beef.
As abrupt and unsettling as that was, when he lay me on the
bed he was gentle as a lamb. He walked out past the door
as Monica was pulling it closed. She turned the key again.
The driver asked, "Anything else, Miss?"

To which she replied, "No, I think that will be all for
tonight. Leave her bags here by the door before you go,
will you? Will we see you in the morning?"

"No, Miss. Another drives for you tomorrow."

"Well," she said, "thank you for your assistance this
evening." I heard him removing the bags and depositing
them outside the door. The door on the limo opened and
then slammed shut. The engine roared to life and the sound
of the garage door opening could clearly be heard. The
engine noise diminished as he backed out and moments later
the door could be heard to close shutting out all the
outside noise.

"Well, wench, just the two of us. The light in here stays
on just as long as you're a good girl. If it goes out it
goes out for a long time. Don't let it go out. The belt
stays on. I'd tell you not to play with it, you'll only
hurt yourself, but, with you in bonds that isn't likely, is
it? As for the rest of it, wench, we'll make that up as we
go. I know I can count on you to behave yourself in the
most gracious manner. God help you if you don't." As she
swung the door shut I heard her say "Good night, wench."
Then the door slammed shut and the bolt was thrown with a
metallic clank. I was now alone. I came. Now it hurt.
The light was glaring, even past the mask. I cried. I
closed my eyes. I nodded off.

I dreamed of the horses I ride in Central Park. Like them
it seems I'm haltered and saddled, and like them I'm ridden
hard. Unlike them I was put up wet.

(Continued in part 2)

* *
* Implied *
* Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, *
* And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd, -- *
* Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, *
* And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay. *
* *
* Milton's Paradise Lost, book iv, Line 307. *
* *
* Something to say from the submissive's point of view? *
* Hard to find the "right" words? Want it in a story? *
* Tell me about it by mail at *
* *


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