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CHAPTER EIGHT
Alison stirs fitfully in her slumber, the rings in her sex flesh beginning to ache and burn and throb abominably as the drugs in her bloodstream start to wear off. Her pussy and ass are swollen and sore from the abuse they have taken and the many injections that have pierced her. She feels an ugly pain deep inside her rectum where the Monster's cock has battered her delicate inner membranes. Suddenly her eyes pop open as she remembers who and what and where she is. For a few minutes she just lies there enduring it, not wanting to draw her Mistress' attention, knowing that once she wakes it will all begin all over again. Her hands pull at the cuffs where they are fastened to her collar, wishing she could rip the offending rings from her body, but it's hopeless of course. She can no more touch them than she could fly to the moon.
Some semblance of her former self has returned to her as her head clears, tormenting her with doubt and self-blame. Why oh why didn't she just get up and walk away, no run away, the moment Fiona took out the handcuffs that afternoon as they sat on the couch together? What idiotic slutty impulse led her to go ahead and fasten them around her own wrists? Why didn't she run out of the room screaming the moment that Slate first entered the room, instead of just sitting there, paralyzed, like a bird frozen in front of a cobra? From that point on, she realizes there's little she could have done. The dizzying rush of events that followed has carried her away into a heady and unknown world of slavery and sexual submission. Why oh why has her body betrayed her like this, melting into a pool of liquid acquiescence whenever she is whipped, when she should be filled with rage and a fierce determination to resist and escape? Why is it that the more Slate and his proxies hurt and humiliate her, the more she feels herself opening to him, surrendering herself, surrendering her will and her body eagerly and with shameful excitement?
The silver piercings itch and burn in her faithless cunt, that even now is beginning to moisten itself once again as she struggles in her bonds, tormented with guilt and self-loathing. She must be some kind of sick masochist to enjoy this kind of treatment. For she realizes that deep down she has no real desire to escape… that even now she is waiting perhaps more eagerly than her Master for the moment when he will return to her to lay his hands, or perhaps his whip, upon her. In any case, the point is moot… the die is cast. There can be no turning back now… Gathering her courage, she calls out for her keeper… “Mistress… Mistress Fiona… Please help me… It hurts… It hurts so much… Please come and help me… “
In a matter of moments the kinky brunette is there at her bedside, a shining 5cc syringe already prepared and in her hand. While her roommate was napping, Fiona has changed into a shiny black vinyl catsuit that hugs her ample curves tightly, with boots, belt and gloves to match. Alison shivers in dread and stares wide eyed as her mistress holds the hypodermic up to the light, giving her a good look at the three inch needle on the end of it. “I have your medicine all ready right here…” the black-haired bitch announces smugly… “But if you want it you're gonna have to take this long needle up inside your ass. Is that agreeable to you? It's your choice, dear. You could do without it if you like…”
“But it's so big… so looong…” the still shackled blond protests feebly, knowing in her heart that she really has no choice… Without the drugs there is too much pain…
“Nonsense, dear…” Fiona announces crisply. “We need a nice long needle to get down good and deep inside you… Now make up your mind… If you want what I have inside this syringe there's only one way you're gonna get it. Now roll over onto your tummy and get yourself up on your knees with your ass up in the air. Otherwise, stop wasting my time…”
Sighing inwardly with resignation, the blonde stuggles to comply with this demand. It's difficult with her shaking hands still shackled to the headboard, but eventually she gets herself up on her elbows and knees, cringing at the thought of what she has agreed to do and hating herself for giving in. She bites her lip, trying not to squirm with apprehension, her belly knotted in fear. “I thought you'd see it my way…” her mistress observes… “But your position isn't quite right… put your head down and get your ass up higher… move your knees apart further on the bed… that's it…” Alison burns with humiliation as she is forced to assume this degrading posture, opening and offering her widespread backside as if to an invisible lover. Fiona presses down on the small of her back, forcing her to arch her spine and further raising and opening her rear entrance. “That's good, dear…” her wardress declares… “Now just stay like that… Shall we call this Position Number One? It is one that you will no doubt be required to assume very frequently. Remember now that you must hold yourself perfectly still. After all, you wouldn't want to break this needle off in your ass by squirming around too much while it's inside you…” The very idea makes Alison cringe… unconsciously she holds her breath, awaiting the stab of the lance into the helplessly exposed membranes of her pink rectum. Fiona teases the girl a little, probing her hairless anus with a latex-gloved finger, working it open a little bit, making her gasp with fear and anxiety as her scared little sphincter and bowels flutter uncontrollably, forcing out a little bubble of gas. This amuses her mistress greatly.
Leaving about a half inch of her finger inside the blonde to pry her open and holding the syringe in her other hand, the cat-suited domina uses that finger to guide the shaft of the needle as she slowly sinks an inch or so of it into the coral-colored flesh inside the mouth of the terrified girl's fearfully twitching ass hole. Alison lets out a shrill little squeak as she is penetrated, but otherwise doesn't move a muscle, her whole being concentrated on holding herself absolutely rigid. Due to the extreme sharpness of the needle, it really doesn't hurt all that much, but the sensation is riveting, to say the least.
Fortunately for Alison, Fiona doesn't give her the whole three inches of steel up the ass at once, but rather feeds it in there slowly, squeezing out a little of the drug solution inside her and waiting for it to start creating a nice warm glow there before driving it deeper, doing the same thing again, easing it into the girl slowly. Of course, this is a more tedious and drawn-out process, but then that's all part of the fun… As a matter of fact, Fiona rather enjoys making the girl squirm on the end of her needle, drawing out the process, controlling her totally as she probes deeper and deeper, depressing the plunger of the syringe to inject more and more drugs into her fearfully churning ass guts. Meanwhile, the warm glowing feeling that had started just inside the mouth Alison's tight little rectum is billowing up deeper inside to fill her pelvis, rushing up her spine to swirl around inside her head as her body suddenly relaxes, her eyes closing and her mouth hanging open as she feels a dizzying rush. The burning ache of her piercings has faded to a pleasant warm throb… unconsciously she presses back with her hips, surrendering herself to the probing needle that fills her with this liquid extasy, wanting to feel it deeper now… deeper. Fiona smirks to herself as she works the thing around inside the girl, noting the transformation that has occurred as Alison gasps and moans with terrified arousal, finally emptying the last of her liquid dynamite in the depths of her captive's seething bowels.
The stoned-out blonde is unable to restrain a little whine of disappointment as her mistress finally pulls the long glittering instrument from her clinging anal flesh. It was just starting to feel really good up there. “Don't be greedy, Alison…” her mistress admonishes her. There will be lots more later… The Boss should be here in an hour or so. We don't want you to peak too early… Meanwhile, we have a bunch of things to do to get you ready. I've got to get you cleaned up and fix your make up and stuff. You want to look pretty for your big debut, don't you?” The captive receptionist lowers her eyes in shame at the way she has once again betrayed herself. What big debut? Alison wonders as she sinks back down on the bed, turning over onto her back. She feels a pleasant dreamy glow, excited and full of energy, yet somehow still relaxed and sensual, her fears and anguish banished as if they had never existed. “Spread your legs…” her mistress commands, breaking into her reverie.
Without a thought, Alison obeys, drawing up her knees to expose her smooth hairless pussy, digging the heels of the boots which she is still wearing into the bedspread to keep them from slipping. Once again she is flat on her back with her legs open. Strange how quickly she is getting used to being in that position, how comfortable she feels doing it. Fiona briefly toys with the rings that hang from her labia, spreading them apart and jabbing a finger into the girl's moist vaginal entrance. She reaches up with her thumb to flick the silver shaft that now skewers the hooded shaft at the top of her slit, making her lovely captive jerk and bite her lip anxiously. “They really do look sweet on you…” Fiona comments. “Don't worry I'm not going to hurt you… You should get up and take a look at them… Come on now it's time to get moving… Let's get you to the bathroom and freshen up a little.” The brunette reaches down and refastens Alison's white patent leash right to the little ring on the end of the shaft that pierces the slave girl's still sore and throbbing clitty. Even the slight jostling of fastening the little clip on the end of the leash sends nerve-tingling jolts radiating up in the blonde's hips. She doesn't even care to imagine what a sharp tug on the leash would feel like. Anyone who holds that ring will instantly command her immediate and total obedience. No doubt Slate will find this useful in the future. The silver clasp of the leash feels cold against her warm shaved pussyflesh. Finally, Fiona allows the still dreamily stoned and obediently spread-eagled submissive to lower her legs and unfastens Alison's wrists from the headboard of the bed, leaving them still clipped together in front of her to the collar around her neck. She helps the somewhat dazed and still loosely-corseted blonde to sit herself up and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Alison slips her feet into the high-heeled white maribou slippers as she stands up a bit unsteadily, allowing herself to be led along by the ring in her cunt and feeling quite anxious and helpless.
She teeters along behind her mistress, taking careful short steps to keep from losing her balance or jerking on the leash, her hands twisting around helplessly where they are still shackled clasped to her throat. As they get to the door communicating with their common bathroom, Alison catches her own reflection in the full length mirror that hangs there. She hardly even recognizes the girl who stares back at her. The silver piercings in her gleam and glitter in the light, their hard coldness making a bizarre and exciting contrast with the softness of her pale pink pussyflesh, announcing to the world the depths of her subjugation. Yet she is struck by how calm she looks… how untroubled and gentle. Whatever happened to the willful teasing bitch who used to live here? She wonders idly, remembering a different Alison. Perhaps Spider was right… maybe she needs a new name to go with her new identity. Doubtless they will think of something…
Fiona leads her over to the commode, gesturing to her to go ahead and squat. The brunette stands there over her, holding her leash as the shamed receptionist pisses long and loudly, blushing with embarrassment at the loud splashing of her urine in the bowl and by the wet farts that she cannot keep from escaping from her well-fucked rear. Unable to wipe herself with her hands still fastened to the collar around her neck, she is compelled to half-stand, half-squat there over the toilet as her mistress mops up her tush for her and flushes the mess away, making her feel even more childlike, humiliated and dependent. And she hasn't even had her enema yet.
“Hold that pose, sweetie…” Fiona commands, leaving Alison half bent over but turning her around so that she is facing the wall over the toilet and fastening her leash to a hook hanging in the wall there. The shackled blonde stands/squats awkwardly over the toilet, staring at the white tiled wall in strained silence and waiting abjectly to be penetrated as her mistress walks over to the sink and fills a big red rubber bag with hot steamy water, adding a few drops of some sort of solution to the mix. Probably some sort of disenfectant/spermicide. You could cut the silence with a knife.
For once I will spare the reader the messy details of what happens next. Suffice it to say that Fiona makes sure that her humiliated captive is thoroughly cleansed both inside and out before leading her back to the doorframe by the leash and fastening her cuffed hands to the hook up above her head there to once more tighten up the laces of her corset. Thus immobilized and stretched taught, the submissive blonde's already slender waist is compressed and constricted inexorably tighter and tighter as she gasps and pants for breath, her lovely bosom heaving rapidly as her mistress grunts with effort and pulls relentlessly on the laces behind her until the edges of the garment meet together in the back in an unbroken line. “You're adapting to your corset training quite nicely…” the brunette observes… “I thought it would take another day or two to be able to get your waist down to sixteen inches… The men are going to love what it does for your form and posture…” That's easy for her to say. Poor Alison feels faint and lightheaded from the tremendous pressure around her middle. If she wasn't fastened securely to the doorframe she would probably keel over. Of course Fiona knows this. She's just being flippant.
While the chained blonde is hanging there trying to catch her breath and held rigidly at attention, her mistress takes this opportunity to respray her with perfume. Alison moans in torment as the musky floral fragrance is sprayed onto the tender flesh of her recently pierced and freshly depilated twat, burning as it dries. Fiona as usual does a thorough job, perfuming her neck, her armpits, her breasts, her wrists, even the crack of her ass. There's nothing subtle about the aroma of fresh flowers and hot wet pussy that that quickly permeates the air… an odor guaranteed to grab the attention and open the nose of any man within twenty feet and get his hormones raging. The mere smell announces Alison's presence from across the room, spelling out C…U…N…T… in big red letters. “Phew…” Fiona gasps… “That stuff will make you dizzy… Now let's just touch up your makeup and get you dressed. Its almost six o'clock already and Mr. Slate will be here soon to pick you up…”
Pick her up? Alison wonders as her mistress unhooks her from the doorframe and minces her over to the vanity table, sitting her down on the bench and refastening her cuffed wrists behind her back. Where is she going?
To what uses will she be put when they get there? As Fiona fusses with her hair and makeup, the fettered and tightly corseted blonde realizes that in fact she has not left the apartment for the last three days, imprisoned in a private world of sexual enslavement and servitude, a cocoon in which her transformation has been effected in concealment and secrecy from the world outside. She has a feeling that soon that is going to change… She has an idea that Slate intends to display her in some much more public fashion… that soon many people will know what she has become. This thought creates a great deal of anxiety, but also a secret excitement. Alison squirms in her seat as Fiona finishes up with her face, applying a last glossy coat of bright pink-magenta lipstick to her ripe full mouth. She looks like some kind of expensive and exotic whore, and the lovely blonde stares at her own reflection, shamed but still aroused by her own appearance, imagining its devastating effect on any man within eyesight with a certain satisfaction and pride.
Fiona pulls a pair of ultra-sheer white nylon panties out of the dresser, finally unfastening her captive from the vanity bench and helping her to stand up. Alison dutifully steps into the panties and allows her roommate to pull them up over her high-heeled boots and white stockings, pulling them up tightly to her lower belly. They hide nothing. Through the thin and clingingly sensual translucent fabric the folds of her girlish slit can be clearly seen, as can the rings that pierce her. She stands there passively waiting as Fiona selects a white vinyl minidress from the walk-in closet along the wall, one so short that it barely covers the tops of her thighs and as tight as a sausage skin, with ruffles and bows along the hemline and at the low-cut vee of the bodice. The sultry brunette unfastens Alison's hands from behind her back to slip this garment over her head and down over the tight corset that constricts her, being careful not to muss her hair, then zipping the dress up in the back. Unlocking the blonde's wide pearly wristbands she draws a pair of white stretchy opera-length gloves up over her hands and arms and buttons them up before refastening the pearly bracelet-manacles tightly over the gloves.
Finally a four-inch wide white patent leather belt is cinched around her already impossibly narrow waist, its silver buckle ornamented with the same design of crossed whips that adorns her choker and wristbands. The girl is forced to stand rigidly erect, her bosom lifted and swelling with each breath, the shapes of the rings that pierce her nipples just barely discernable through the very thin white vinyl of the minidress. Through all this the blonde remains passive, allowing her roommate to dress her up like a doll. Now that she's been properly drugged up she has little inclination to struggle. As a matter of fact, she finds herself in a state of eager if rather fearful anticipation… She hasn't been dressed up like this for no reason. She has no doubt that soon she will be obliged to open herself again… open her mouth, her pussy, her ass… open herself for her Master or whoever he chooses to give her to. In all likelihood she will be whipped. Even though this thought is still terrifying to her, she also knows that she has had her best and most satisfying orgasms after she has been made to cry. Slate has intuited this secret desire, and has let her know that he intends to see that she is punished regularly.
The cat-suited brunette hands her a small white vinyl clutch purse with the same makeup and lipstick she used to fix her lovely captive's face. The wicked combination of hypnotics and stimulants that course through her veins leave the submissive receptionist feeling brightly alert, yet docile and sensual. She makes no struggle as her mistress refastens her bracelets together again in front of her and takes her arm to walk her out to the living room and sit her down on the couch. Just as she is getting settled the doorbell rings and Alison's heart leaps into her mouth. He is coming…
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