Loaning Lucy

LOANING LUCY

PART TWO

Lucy knocked on the door. She was carrying a tiny suitcase with everything that she hadn’t sold, stored or given away. It contained her remaining worldly possessions; maid’s clothes, lingerie, slutwear and accessories, along with her cosmetics and wash bags. In the side pocket were her diary and an envelope containing her passport and the wad of cash she’d raised by selling most of her belongings.

Her ‘dowry’, as it was termed. Her application had been successful, but subject to payment of an irrevocable fee to her sponsor Mistress Alice. Lucy could change her mind about all this, but there’d be no refund.

She waited.

Eventually the door opened and a young girl about Lucy’s age opened the door. She was beautiful, with uber-blonde ringlets and bright blue eyes. Beautiful and totally naked.

“Lucy ?”

“Yes … um … hi.”

“Come in.” The girl turned and walked back through Alice’s hall. Her perfect, curved silhouette took Lucy’s breath away. She followed.

“Is … Mistress Alice in ?”

“No. She’ll be back soon. She said you should start right away by taking everything off.”

Lucy gulped. She self-consciously started unbuttoning her top.

“Can I ask … who you are ?”

The girl threw herself casually onto the larger of two leather sofas.

“I’m Beck. Didn’t she tell you ?”

“… no.”

The girl smiled, shaking her head in wonder. “I’m Alice’s girlfriend. Her lover, her muse and her submissive, all rolled into one hot and dirty package.” She giggled, looking at Lucy.

“She really didn’t tell you did she ?”

“No.”

“And you’ve come here thinking you were going to be her girlfriend right ?”

Lucy’s mouth was dry. “I … well …”

Beck eyed Lucy up and down as if for the first time. “I should carry on undressing if I were you. She could get back at any time. Come on, let’s see those tits. Alice said they’re not much to write home about.”

Lucy found herself sticking her chest out as she eased her top along her arms. She was wearing a white bra underneath.

“Er …wha …” she frowned in confusion, slowly trying to formulate a question.

Beck rolled around in amusement on the sofa. “Oh, don’t be silly. The situation’s quite straightforward. You’re our new slave. I’m submissive sure, to Alice, but I’m not a twenty four seven, no limits slave ! She and I love each other. But you’re just the hired help.”

Lucy’s fingers had frozen in shock as she was unzipping her skirt.

There was a scratching sound of a key in the front door lock. She hurriedly started to pull her skirt off.

“Ah.” Alice said, walking in and surveying the scene, totally unfazed. “You’ve met I see.” She raised an eyebrow sternly at Lucy. “And what are you waiting for ? Strip. It’s time for introductions.”

*** *** ***

Lucy squirmed on the floor, licking Alice’s and Beck’s feet in turn.

Alice was still wearing the stiletto heels she’d returned in. Beck’s feet were naked, with a rainbow of toenails, each varnished one of ten bright colours. They were drinking peppermint tea, chatting, cuddling.

“What are your plans for her ?” Beck asked.

There was a long pause. Alice had accepted the brown envelope of cash from Lucy without making comment. Not even a thank you. She hadn’t looked inside at the amount or the passport. “Well, I shall train her first. Then either sell her or rent her out. I think it would be fun to loan her out, for a while at least.”

“You know she thought that she was coming here to be your girlfriend.”

Lucy heard Alice snort. “I don’t think so, dear. That position’s taken.” She heard them both kissing each other.

“Can I help with her training ?”

“Of course. We can be super wicked with this one.”

They laughed. Beck’s pretty toes twiddled against each other.

“Go on. What can I be in charge of ?”

Lucy felt Alice’s heel jabbing the back of her head. “You can teach her how to clean shoes properly, for a start.” Lucy licked the leather with renewed vigour.

“Okay. And ?”

Alice sighed. “Anything but the really big decisions. I’ll still take those. But you can direct her day-to-day life. How’s that ?”

Beck hissed. “Yesss.”

“Hold on. And no sex with her.” Alice said. “Not unless I say so.”

“Of course.”

“In fact, make sure she has no sex at all. Or more precisely, no orgasms. Keep an eye on her at all times. After a while, when she’s horny enough, the slut’ll probably try anything.”

“You could have her clit numbed by that quack doctor ?”

“Not yet. Not unless she’s constantly touching herself.”

“What about duties ?”

Alice exhaled. “The usual. I want her working 14 to 16 hours a day. The full list of chores and you should make extra mess if necessary. Keep this one in constant drudgery. Seven days a week.”

“It’ll be pleasure.” Beck giggled. “So I don’t have to do anything ? Not even cooking this time ?”

“Not unless I fancy something special. You can teach her to do salads and simple stuff exactly as we like them.  The rest of the time you can just lie around and watch TV, so long as you’re ready when I need you.”

Lucy heard Beck exhale a giggle at the innuendo.

“Routines ?”

“A strict diet, for one. I want to change her body shape. We’ll get her in corsets too. I’ve got that Victorian whale bone one somewhere.”

“How strict ?”

“Oh, that’s up to you. Plenty of water. And fluids.” They both laughed. “And plenty of fruit and fibre. Keep her regular !”

“Talking of which, visits to the bathroom ?”

Alice paused, then Lucy heard the ‘psswh’ sound of whispering, followed by childish giggles. “A severe training regime for at least the first two weeks.”

Beck curled her toes under Lucy’s nostrils. “This is going to be a lot of fun.”

*** *** ***

And so it began.

A brutal routine. Lucy had come to Alice’s home expecting mistreatment, but of the exciting, sexual kind. What she got was completely different. A constant and relentless barrage of unexciting toil and ruthless criticism, however hard she tried.

She slept nights in a tiny, windowless box room, on a steel bed. The mattress was thin rubber and the springs were uncomfortable. At around midnight each night after a day’s toil, Beck shackled her wrists and ankles to metal bolts in the four corners of the bed. Lucy slept naked except for an adult incontinence diaper round her waist, and a single torn sheet. Her only company was a baby-listening device that piped the sounds of lovemaking through to her from Alice’s bedroom suite. The sheet was yellowed and filthy, crusty with yellow, pink and dark smears, unwashed since previous occupants.

Each morning, at any time between 8 and 10 a.m., depending on when Beck got up, Lucy’s day began. From that moment, she didn’t stop. Apart from a few short breaks for toilet and sustenance, she scrubbed and polished, wiped and dusted, washed and ironed, pressed and sorted, prepared and cooked, served and washed up, stitched and sewed, fixed and mended, typed and filed, then scrubbed and polished all over again. Until midnight. Every day.

She had to follow specific rituals, word for word.

“Please, Beck. May I ask you if I can use the toilet ?”

“Yes, you may ask.”

“May I use the toilet ? I need to pee.”

“You may not. And do not ask again for at least one hour.”

It was terribly hard doing all the chores with a full bladder. She wasn’t allowed to use any of the modern equipment that was locked in the cupboard under the stairs. Dusting was done on all fours, speck by speck. Mopping was done on her hands and knees with a wet cloth. It was truly like being a maid in a Victorian household.

Alice used to go out most weekdays, leaving Beck in sole charge. But before she left the house, Alice always followed her same routine. After a cup of mint tea and perfectly sliced fruit for breakfast, she would use an old fashioned bedpan in her large, ensuite bathroom. She never once commented on why she used it when there was a perfectly serviceable flushing toilet that was more comfortable and convenient.

While Alice soaked in the hot suds of her bath, she summoned Lucy and pointed silently at the used pan. More often than not, several brown coils lay steaming inside it, usually swimming in dark urine.

Again, she had to get the words and tone exactly right, verbatim.

“Thank you, Mistress.” She cooed. “And would you be so kind as to allow me to clean your bedpan ?”

Alice merely rolled her eyes, watching her over the edge of the bath.

Lucy lifted it carefully, keeping her eyes on Alice, never wavering. She held it under her nostrils and breathed in appreciatively. At the same time, all she could usually think of was how much she needed to use the toilet herself, since Beck never allowed her to ‘pollute the atmosphere’ until Alice had left home.

Slowly, Lucy lowered her eyes to the pan, careful to show no emotion, except for an appreciative expression. She felt Alice’s gaze on her.

Then she placed the pan on top of the toilet cistern and delicately lifted out the first piece with her bare hands. She wasn’t allowed to drop it. She lowered her hand and daintily laid the stinking brown handful on the surface of the water. She then repeated the exercise as many times as it took. Often she needed a dozen handfuls before it was accomplished.

Next, she used an old toothbrush and paper towel to scrub and polish the used bedpan until it sparkled, ready for its next use. Finally she was allowed to press the toilet flush and watch her Mistress’s waste being sucked away.

“May I wash my hands now please, Mistress ?”

Again, Alice merely rolled her eyes to signal permission.

Lucy lowered her hands into the refilled toilet bowl and wiped them together. Later, downstairs, she was allowed to scrub them properly with antiseptic, liquid soap, but Alice found it offensive if she did that in her presence.

“Will that be all, Mistress ?” Lucy wiped her palms dry over her own naked breasts. “It was an honour to be of service to you. Thank you.”

*** *** ***

Beck was strange. In Alice’s presence, she was sometimes as reserved and submissive as any slave. But alone with Lucy, she was the complete opposite.

For punishments, she liked to make use of the wooden trapdoor cut in the floor of the living room floor.

It was the same secret hole where Lucy had been fucked for the one and only time in her life. She hated the reminder and it always felt to Lucy like being in a claustrophobic pillory underground.

Beck was callous and skilled with the leather paddle. She beat Lucy’s bottom until her skin was scarlet, and the flesh had started to blister. Lucy was constantly too sore to sit down and she winced if her bare buttocks touched anything. At night she lay in pain, biting her lips to stop crying.

But the whipping was just Beck’s starter course. Lucy knelt helplessly as she felt Beck playing with her dry anus, roughly spreading it open without any lubricant. Alice owned a legendary collection of over a hundred dildos and vibrators, from funny little ‘pleasure toys’ to seriously large ‘pain machines’. Lucy was forced to listen to the two lovers at night using the nice ones on each other for hours.

“I’m going to ruin your asshole.” Beck often whispered to Lucy, while she was scrubbing the kitchen floor or ironing Alice’s lingerie.

Alice seemed not to care about the bullying. She never commented when Lucy howled with pain as she squatted to pass a stool in front of both women. Alice had entrusted Beck with the job of training her and, it seemed, had full confidence in her ability. Once, there was blood seepage on Lucy’s overnight diaper but Alice was more angry about the waste of a diaper than Lucy’s abused anus. If she pissed at night, her diapers could be re-used several times, saving money. It was only if she soiled them that Lucy got a new one.

When they were alone, Beck would sometimes make Lucy stand naked and she would compare their faces and bodies. It was humiliating. Lucy knew that she herself was quite pretty, but Beck was stunning. She was a year younger than Lucy, cleverer, more talented and, what’s more, Alice loved her.

Yet Beck never seemed convinced of the fact, and she took her insecurity out spitefully on Lucy.

So, once the large vibrator was churning away in Lucy’s anus, with her head locked in the underground pillory, Beck would start on her ‘dessert’. She used to pick away at the sore diaper rash that had developed round Lucy’s inner thighs. Lucy sobbed helplessly, her tears splashing the black hole. They always made her drink two whole pints of fluid around 11 p.m., to ‘train her’. Virtually every night she woke up and, after a valiant struggle, she felt hot urine filling her diaper. Within days, a nasty red rash had developed.

First Beck had picked at the sores until scabs developed. Now she was picking at the scabs, then rubbing rock salt in to sterilise them, making Lucy scream. Her vagina was becoming more of an ugly mess by the day. But Alice didn’t seem to care about that either.

*** *** ***

Lucy had to cook for them wearing a ball gag in her mouth, which made her drool, so they gave her a chin strap of absorbent towelling as well.

The reason for the gag was to prevent her tasting or stealing the delicious food she was forced to prepare and cook for them every evening and at weekends. She was so hungry her stomach growled and she could hardly bear to handle the ingredients. The odours made her light headed.

Twice a day, after she’d cooked, served and washed up all the pans and dishes, Lucy was made to eat herself. Occasionally they forced her to dine off the floor but usually she sat alone at the kitchen table. While Lucy had been making her mistress’s three-course feast in the kitchen, Beck was out in the utility room mixing up Lucy’s slop.

Alice came home twice a week with shopping bags, either from the local butcher’s or fishmonger’s. Both women would giggle at Lucy and peer into the bag, making ‘mmm’ sounds. Lucy had been a vegetarian since she was 15 years old, but solely on the grounds she didn’t like the taste. In her application for membership to Wonderland, she accepted that what she was fed would not be subject to any limits.

Beck had already revealed that she was actually an excellent cook. She still made Sunday lunch for herself and Alice. But the rest of the week she dedicated her skills and knowledge to producing jaw-droppingly awful food for Lucy. In fact, even though Lucy was half-starving, she soon had to be force fed. She had lost 17 lbs in weight during her first ten days. 

Her diet was almost completely meat (or rather offal) and fish (or rather fish heads, tails and skin). Lucy would boil the ingredients for hours until they had liquefied into a loose but lumpy porridge. Scum floated on the surface. To this, she added, waste fruit from Alice’s and Lucy’s own recycle bin and a dollop of stewed prunes, into which she mixed vitamins, iron and laxative supplements.

Of course, the recipe varied, according to what body parts and fruit skin were available. Sometimes she curried the mix. Occasionally she added a few ‘secret ingredients’. But the result was always foul.

“Eat up, Loose.” Beck would say, pointing her finger.

Lucy heaved, staring at the bowl.

They quickly had to resort to a black ‘watersports’ hood.

It was made of heavy rubber, zipping up at the back, with a locking collar. There were eyeholes and a mouth opening. Into the mouth opening went a hollow, penis-shaped gag with a wide hole through its middle. Lucy couldn’t budge the gag once it had been fixed between her teeth.

Beck winked as she affixed a long rubber tube to the hole in the gag. At the gag-end of the tube was a one-way valve and at the top-end was a stainless steel funnel. Lucy could only peer helplessly through her eyeholes and bite against the rubber gag with her teeth.

Then it was feeding time at the zoo.

Alice used to interrupt her surfing on the internet with a glass of wine to watch. The first time, Lucy had leapt out of her chair on tasting a mouthful. So, after that, Beck carefully taped her wrists down to the arms of the chair, and her neck to the sturdy wooden back, so that Lucy’s face pointed upwards.

Because it was primarily over-boiled protein and fruit pulp without any carbohydrates at all, an extremely large helping contained only a few hundred calories. The laxative ensured that a high proportion of her intake didn’t stay inside Lucy long, assisting with weight loss.

Thus, it could take Beck 20 to 30 minutes of forced feeding to empty the contents of the huge bowl. She would wait, calmly and patiently, while Lucy reluctantly swallowed each mouthful, quite often several times, as she spewed the rejected bile up to the tube’s one-way valve, where it was blocked and slid back down again.

Lucy stared helplessly upwards. Using her peripheral vision, she could see Alice and Beck nibbling a chocolate or even an icecream while they ladled large mouthfuls into the funnel. They even played music and paused for a slow dance while Lucy looked upwards and waited, her eyes watering with nausea.

Then on the fourth evening, Alice broke off from a dance with Beck and fetched a large bowl from a cupboard. She raised her dress and sighed, emptying her wine-filled bladder there, rather than walking fifteen measly feet to the cloakroom. Soon Beck did the same. Once Lucy’s meal was eventually finished, the contents of the bowl were transferred via a jug into the funnel. So that Lucy could ‘rinse away’ the taste of her food.

*** *** ***

And yet, despite everything, something deep inside Lucy, responded to the dreadful treatment she was subjected to. For the first time in her life, she felt … fulfilled. No, that was stupid, but she couldn’t think of a better word. She felt … right. And her life was uncluttered by bills, or a career, or finding a girlfriend.

This was what she wanted, what she deserved.

After a week, she was climbing the walls with sexual frustration. Every night she lay, exhausted but awake, long after the sighs and cries from Alice’s bedroom had turned to gentle snores and breathing. She just wanted to touch herself once, to feel a climax rippling through her body one more time. Every day she watched Beck passing the afternoons watching bodice-ripping movies and lesbian DVDs on the screen while pleasuring herself.

Occasionally either Alice or Beck would call her over and examine her vagina, fingering her labia until they pouted. They’d tease her about her scabs, saying that it was her leaking pussy causing the nappy rash.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you ?” Alice said. “Deep down.” Her eyes bored into Lucy’s. Her smile was crooked, querying.

Lucy knew that now was the time to complain that things had gone too far; the food and diet, the constant abuse, Beck’s behaviour.

“Yes, Mistress.” She croaked.

Alice slid her thumb casually over Lucy’s clitoris. “Don’t you dare touch this will you ? Even by accident.”

“No, Mistress.”

Alice’s expression slowly softened into a full grin. “I will look after your sex life. It will be much better for you that way.”

In spite of the occasional vaginal examinations, they continued to ignore her sexually. Lucy was a slave, a maid, a punch bag, but she barely seemed to register on their sexual register.

Then, on her third Sunday in service, the doorbell rang.

She opened the door naked. A fat, middle-aged Chinese lady stood there in a shiny sweat suit. She had a jet-black bun of hair and big hoop earrings.

“Aha. And you must be Rucy.” The woman said.

The woman’s visit lasted barely twenty minutes. The longest twenty minutes of Lucy’s life. Smiling, Alice and Beck said they would pop out to Starbucks for a coffee, leaving Lucy with Jasmine. The visitor was a married member of the Wonderland Bdsm Club. She had dropped by on the off chance, having seen Alice’s advert.

Lucy knelt between her naked thighs. The woman had removed just her Barbie-pink sweat pants and a pair of large knickers, the elasticated kind that hold your tummy in. Her thighs were huge and dimpled, like the skin on cold chicken legs. At the apex was a triangle of black hair and a damp vagina.

Lucy realised the fishy stench wasn’t body odour, but second hand sex.

Jasmine smiled, pulling Lucy nearer by the back of her hair.

“My husband knows nothing about this part of my rife.” She said, fluently but with an oriental accent. “He still likes to have his once-a-week, Sunday morning fucky-fuck. So, rick me clean little white girl, and give Rady Jasmine a nice orgasm prease.”

Lucy had never tasted semen before. She had always been repulsed by the idea. Yet her first experience was to be even worse; served second-hand from the fetid vagina of a woman she’d only met 5 minutes earlier.

Cautiously, she stuck out her tongue and pressed it to the woman’s glistening pink maw. Her trimmed triangle of hair was black and damp. She heard a sigh and watched the woman’s thighs inch wider. The semen dregs weren’t pearly white as she expected. The ooze was clear-grey, like a wallpaper paste. She licked at it and felt acid rise into her throat.

“Hurry up deary, Jasmine doesn’t have all day.”

The lapped again, flicking the tip of her tongue against the woman’s obscenely protruding clitoris. Her Velcro sweatshirt had ridden up, revealing an expanse of blotchy stomach flesh. Lucy heard a hiss of pleasure.

It took around ten minutes, of tender licking, kissing and eventually slobbering, as the woman’s juices ran thick and copiously.

“Careful dear. Swallow it all. Don’t make mark on Alice’s sofa.” The woman pronounced Alice’s name as Arriss.

Eventually she climaxed, wrapping her pudgy thighs round Lucy’s head.  Her orgasm took ages, but she remained almost silent throughout, just making a staccato ‘ah…ah’ sound with her mouth wide open.

Afterwards, she said nothing. No thank you, not even a nod of acknowledgement. She pointed at her knickers and shiny track pants. Lucy passed them over and she put them on in silence.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door.

“Are you decent ?” Alice said, popping her head round. “Finished ?”

“Yes.” Jasmine replied.

Lucy caught Beck’s smirk as she walked in behind Alice. It was a grin of total triumph. Like she’d won something.

Jasmine walked towards the door, still ignoring Lucy.

Alice smiled, escorting her out. “Do drop by again soon.”

On the doorstep, Jasmine paused and turned. “How much ? To loan her out to me.” She pronounced it ‘roan’, not loan. Roaning Rucy.

Alice smiled at Lucy, turning the sides of her mouth down in that universal expression of disregard. She shrugged. “Oh not much at all.”

END OF PART TWO

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