Gotcha

It took several days for the piercings to stop hurting, and even after that they itched like crazy. Morning, noon and evening Jen would bath the affected areas with antiseptic and she made sure her personal hygiene was meticulous but, even so, her vaginal lips were sore and inflamed and walking was a real trial. Each evening, she was brought before Wendy who would check her over carefully but, aware that rough treatment would only prolong he healing process, was very gentle with them. However, having Jen’s vagina and breasts out of action did not stop the abuse, instead Wendy began to concentrate her efforts around Jen’s anus. One morning she produced a fly whisk of the sort used by African dignitaries and, after bending Jen over her knee and giving her buttocks a light dusting, turned it round and inserted the handle.

As the handle was quite short and little more than one centimetre in diameter, it was neither as intrusive nor as uncomfortable as the dildo attached to the frame when the piercings had been fitted and Jen, knowing full well that resistance would not be helpful, relaxed as far as was possible to help ease its entry, and, bit by bit, it was worked back and forth until only the horsehair whisk protruded. Wendy was delighted and insisted that Jen do two laps of the office on her hands and knees, neighing like a horse. Jen was surprised to discover that, once she’d got over the initial discomfort, she rather liked the full feeling it gave her and, whilst playing at being a pony was humiliating, the tail was producing a smorgasbord of sensations and, though she’d be loath to admit it, she wanted it to remain. She couldn’t help but flex her buttock muscles savouring the conflicting waves of feelings that it produced and Wendy, alert to the slightest sign, picked up on this.

“It looks like my little piglet likes having a pony tail, is that so?” Wendy enquired. Jen, still on her hands and knees bowed her head and blushed.

“Well, speak up, do you?”

“Please, Mistress, I… I don’t know” Jen stammered.

“Oh yes you do. Come along now, I won’t wait all day.” Wendy’s voice was acquiring that edge of impatience that Jen knew and feared.

“Yes, Mistress. Yes, I do.” Jen replied eventually. “I mean, it hurts and all but…”

“I thought so. Now come here.” Wendy patted her thigh, a sign that Jen was supposed to go over and rest her head on Wendy’s lap.

“You know, piglet,” She continued as she stroked Jen’s hair. “The sooner you learn to be honest about your sexuality; honest to yourself as much as to me, the better it will be for you. I’ll bet you quite enjoyed having your bottom filled when you were on the cross having your piercings done.”

Jen didn’t reply; she hardly knew how to. The whole incident had been so intense that it was difficult to single out any one aspect or any one emotion. Her main memory was the burning, searing pain from the piercings but there had been other aspects that had had a profoundly disturbing effect on her. The sensory deprivation, the total inability to move, the sense of helplessness, the vulnerability of being spread wide open and exposed, and, dare she admit it, the powerful sensations that resulted from having her anus brutally penetrated, had taken her to places she never knew existed and, for all the pain involved, places to which she knew that one day she would have to return. Was this what she really was? Would she one day welcome the pain and servitude as the price to be paid for feeling that way. She had been Wendy’s slave for little more than two weeks and already she had learnt to accept her place knelt at Wendy side with her head on her lap; how much more would she learn to accept, how much more did she want to?

Wendy patted Jen on the head and sent he back to her desk to work. The fly whisk remained in place for the rest of the day.

At long last it was time for the West Coast trip. The tickets were booked, the meetings arranged and all Jen’s hard work was ready to be put to the test. She was busy filing away the essentials when Wendy called her over.

“Do you want to go on this trip?” she asked.

“Of course, Mistress. You know how much I’ve been looking forward to it.” Jen was taken aback.

“It’s just that I’m not going to be able to keep quite as close an eye on you as normal. It might be that ungrateful little piglets might feel they would want to run away. Maybe it would be safer if I left you behind.”

“Please, Mistress, I won’t run, I really won’t.” Jen fell to her knees, shocked. She could understand Wendy’s reasoning but she had been so focussed on going that to have it snatched away at the last minute was devastating.

“Hmm… Look me in the eye.” Jen did as she was told, meeting Wendy’s steely glare without flinching. “Do you promise not to try to run away?”

“Yes, Mistress, I promise.” Oddly enough she meant it. She had got so caught up in all the planning that the possibilities of escape hadn’t crossed her mind and now, well she didn’t want to miss out on all the fun, she didn’t want to miss seeing the fruition of all her hard work.

“Hmm… I guess I’ll trust you, but, just in case you get any silly ideas, remember that, should you run away I will come after you and you’ll spend what little is left of your life looking over your shoulder. No-one double crosses me and gets away with it. I do hope that is completely understood.

“Yes, Mistress, of course, Mistress.” Jen was shaking. She had forgotten just how scary Wendy could be and she didn’t doubt her threats for a moment.

First class passengers may get special treatment at Heathrow Airport but, since 9/11, they are subject to the same security screening as the rest of us. Wendy had no problems with the metal detector but Jen set the alarms off as she passed through. One of the attendant security guards, a thick set woman with a short, brutal haircut waved the handheld detector over her and, when it sensed metal near her groin and her breasts she was taken aside. As the security officer closed the door of the interview room she went straight over to Jen and grabbed at the padlock on her collar.

“Well, er, piglet.” She sneered, reading the name off the padlock. “Let me guess, you’ve got piercings, tits and fanny, right?”

“Yes, yes I have.” Jen replied, taken aback by the brutality.

“Well, come along, show me.”  For a moment or two Jen just stared at the security guard but her face was implacable.

“Come along, I haven’t got all day, neither have you if you want to catch your plane. Anyway a little subbie like you should be used to being told to strip.” Jen blushed furiously at the security guards onslaught.

“Yeah, that one struck home.” She continued. “We get your sort through here all the time. I’ll bet any money you like you’re not wearing any knickers. Now, are you going to get on with it or shall I call for some assistance?”

For travelling Jen had been given a light cotton summer dress that buttoned down the front and, along with a pair of sandals, that was all she wore. Shaking she reached down for the hem and pulled it up.

“As I thought, no knickers and piercings on your fanny. Take them out and we’ll scan again.”

“I can’t.” Jen replied. “They haven’t healed properly yet.”

“In that case you leave me no choice. Bend over the table. Don’t worry, a pain slut like you will rather enjoy this.”

Jen bent over as instructed. Behind her she heard the snap as the security guard fitted a rubber glove and then the back of her dress was lifted and she felt the cold sliminess as the well lubricated glove probed her nether regions. A long forefinger was pushed inside her vagina and turned from side to side. Then it was her anus’s turn to get the same treatment; this time Jen couldn’t suppress a little gasp as the tight ring of her sphincter was breached. Jen got the impression that the guard spent rather longer than was necessary, turning her finger this way and that, pushing as deep as she could go.

“Ok, you’re clean. Now stand up and show me your tits.”

Jen stood up, turned round to face the guard and, blushing furiously, undid the top few buttons of her dress. The guard pulled the material aside and gave each breast a good feel.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” She snarled. “We get them all the time, little sluts like you who get their kicks from being assaulted by women in uniform. Well, today your luck is in ‘cos I just love to see subbies squirm.”

The guard took Jen’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed until Jen gave a squeak of pain.

“You like that, don’t you?” The guard sneered.

“No, please, no.” Jen replied.

“Liar!” The guard increased the pressure and Jen’s legs began to buckle and she sank to her knees.

“Ok, yes, I like it.” Jen sobbed realising that unless she agreed she would never escape.

“That’s better.” The guard let go of Jen’s nipple. “Now, what do you say?”

“Thank you, thank you , Mistress.” If thanking Wendy for punishment was hard then it was nothing compared to having to thank this brutal bitch of a security guard.

“That’s it, that’s a good little girl. Now, fuck off out of here, you worthless piece of shit.” With a snort of derision the guard dismissed her.

Shaking from her ordeal Jen returned to the main concourse where Wendy was waiting impatiently. With a look of displeasure she strode off to the first class lounge with Jen training behind. When they got there she angrily demanded to know why she had been kept waiting but as Jen told her tale her mood improved and, as Jen related the succession of indignities she had been put through she laughed and demanded more detail. Jen begged to be allowed to go to the rest rooms and clean herself up; she could feel the lubricant dripping down her inner thigh and she dare not sit down for fear of marking her dress. Wendy enjoyed stretching out the discomfort and insisted she remain until she had heard every detail.

London to Los Angeles is a long haul but if you’ve got to do it then first class is the best way. Jen’s previous flying experience was a couple of package holidays in Alicante and the comparison between being crammed like a sardine in a holiday flight to the luxury of first class in a 747 was marked. Whilst they were flying Wendy indulged her and Jen relaxed, pampered by the air hostesses as the long hours passed.

At LAX they had a pleasant surprise waiting for them. Emerging from immigration they were met by a pretty young blonde wearing a dark brown chauffeur’s uniform. She informed them that ‘Mistress Tanya’ had heard that they were arriving and that her limousine was at their disposal. Wendy said that they would be delighted and the three women headed out to where the limo was parked. When they got there it turned out that Mistress Tanya was waiting for them in the back of the car and as Wendy got in Jen heard the pop of a champagne cork. Jen rode up front next to the chauffeur.

Like most Brits visiting the USA for the first time Jen was amazed at the size of everything. The car, for a start, was huge but it fitted in well with everything else and she felt like a little girl arriving in wonderland. As they headed out of town she even got a glimpse of the Hollywood sign and felt that she had really arrived.

After an hour or so of driving they arrived at a large house in its own grounds. The car drew to a halt outside the front door and the chauffeur leapt out to open the door. Wendy and Mistress Tanya got out and went into the house with Jen and the chauffeur following. As soon as they entered Jen could see that it was a hotel, complete with lobby and reception desk. A woman with an air of importance had come out and was busy greeting Wendy and Mistress Tanya. Although Jen was very much on the outskirts of the discussion she got the gist of the conversation. This was  the manager greeting Wendy as an honoured guest. It was obviously not the first time Wendy had stayed here.

Without any of the normal booking in formalities they were taken upstairs to their suite. Jen looked around in amazement; the sheer luxury of it all was jaw dropping. First there was the main living area with plenty of floor space, soft furnishings and an attached kitchenette.  However the biggest surprise came when they entered the bedroom. There was, naturally, a bed of gigantic proportions but, at the foot of the bed, was something not normally found in hotel rooms: a large dog basket. A short length of chain hung from the bedpost ready to be attached as required. Wendy gave Jen a meaningful look and inclined her head towards the basket and, with a sinking heart, Jen realised that her tour stopped there. For a moment she hesitated before taking off her dress but the simple fact that she was to be chained to the bed, along with the way that the chauffeur had deferred to Mistress Tanya implied that Mistress Tanya was, at the very least, aware of Wendy’s proclivities and in all likelihood she shared them so there was no point in trying to retain any modesty. She shrugged of her dress and, folding it, handed it to the chauffeur. Then she knelt down in the basket and Wendy attached the chain to her collar. Some wrist cuffs were retrieved from the bedside cabinet and Jen didn’t need to be told; she put her wrists behind her back ready and waiting to be restrained. Having thus disposed of Jen, Wendy and Mistress Tanya left and, as the door closed behind them, Jen was alone.

Fortunately the dog basket, like everything else in the hotel, was luxurious and Jen had no problems snuggling down to rest. After a while the door opened and the chauffeur returned but it was only long enough to put a bowl of water next to the basket and leave again. Jen drifted in and out of sleep, her body clock disturbed by the jet lag. At one point she woke up and, feeling parched, lapped at the bowl of water. It was hard with her hands behind her back but she managed to slake her thirst and, settling back down, returned to her wait.

After a while Wendy entered and, without so much as a glance at Jen proceeded to strip off and prepare for a shower. One of the advantages of being super rich is that all Wendy’s luggage had been sent on ahead and was already unpacked so Wendy had all that she desired already laid out in the wardrobes and bathroom. Jen lay still watching Wendy out of the corner of her eye. Although she had seen Wendy dressed in only her silk dressing gown this was the first time she had seen her naked, and not just naked, naked and relaxed. Wendy was behaving as if Jen simply weren’t there and Jen found this intimate peek into Wendy’s private life made her appear more beautiful, more desirable.

Returning from the bathroom Wendy dressed, selecting from the wardrobe a black cocktail dress that, combined with high heeled court shoes and a simple but classy selection from her jewellery box, left her looking a picture of elegance. The phone rang and Wendy answered it. Jen couldn’t catch much of the conversation but she did hear ”I’ll be right down” and as soon as Wendy put the phone down she left.

Wendy hadn’t been gone long when the door opened again; this time a maid entered. She went through to the bathroom and Jen heard her splashing around as she cleaned up. Then she returned to the bedroom and started to tidy, picking up the used towels, tidying the dressing table, and turning back the bed. Like Wendy she behaved as if Jen were not there except that she refilled the water bowl. Jen wasn’t sure whether the hotel specifically catered for those with slaves or was simply prepared to pander to any request as long as the guest was rich enough. She suspected the latter.

Jen settled down to wait. Oddly enough she wasn’t bored, she found that being bound and helpless helped her to switch off and she could just lie there, curled up in her basket waiting for her Mistress. She’d enter a sort of trance, floating, barely existing as the hours drifted by. That was until her bladder started sending urgent messages. The jet lag had left her thirsty and earlier she’d drunk time and time again from the bowl. After the maid had left she’d drained the bowl again and now, hours later, she was paying the price. At first she just clamped her thighs together hoping she could hold it in but the pressure just kept building and holding it back was getting harder and harder. She knew that if she wet her bed she would have to pay the price and soiling the carpet was going to be no better. And then it came to her, she could use the bowl.

It was as awkward as it could be with her wrists restrained and her neck chained to the bed but eventually she managed to manoeuvre herself so that the bowl was  clamped between her calves and she was kneeling over it. Scared that she might splash she tired to let go gently but, once she had started, she couldn’t stop and the relief was such that, quite frankly, she’d given up caring whether the urine splashed or not. Finished at last she looked down; the bowl was full but not dangerously so and, with a bit of careful manoeuvring she was back in the basket without spilling any.

Some time later Wendy reappeared with the chauffeur in tow. She was slightly tipsy; evidently she had been partying and she was holding on tightly to the chauffeur. As she approached the bed she saw, or more importantly smelled, what Jen had done.

“Oh, piglet, you mucky little puppy, couldn’t you control yourself.” There was an air of resignation in Wendy’s admonishment. She turned to the chauffeur. “Be a poppet, will you, and tidy this up and then hurry to bed. I want you, now!”

Whilst Wendy got undressed the chauffeur took the bowl to the bathroom to empty and, noticeably didn’t bring it back. When she returned she quickly stripped off and slid into the bed next to Wendy who was already waiting for her.

As Jen lay, curled up in the basket a ball of bitter jealousy burned inside her. She had done all the work, travelled all this way and now she was ignored, surplus to requirements. Whilst Wendy was out partying she was chained to the bedpost and, even when she returned that little slut of a chauffeur was pleasuring her. Wendy couldn’t see from where she was, nor did she particularly want to, but neither Wendy nor the chauffeur were being restrained in their love making and were noisy enough to leave Jen in no doubt as to how athletic they were being.

With a sob of frustration Jen settled down ant tied to sleep. Hopefully tomorrow she could be useful. That little bitch of a chauffeur may be good looking, blonde, and good in bed, but when it came down to business the she would be the one Wendy turned to.