E-MAIL

E MAIL

Brooke makes her fateful decision.

Chapter Five

       Her decision wretchedly made, tittering back and forth, Brooke reluctantly agrees to her continued employment, to her twelve month subjugation, to accept the humiliation for the long term gain, a year of humiliation for a lifetime of success.  Nodding her affirmative answer, catching the obvious gloating stares of the chauffeur and doorman, she glances toward her wrist restraints, prepares for even more humiliation.

       Wheeled just down the corridor to a restroom by the chauffeur, expecting even more pain, anguish from his mentioned guests; she’s confused as she’s given a white wool bathrobe to wear after being released from the wheelchair.  Led back to the rear of the mansion, to the entrance to the garage area where the limo’s been parked in the garage, she’s surprised as she’s instructed to sit in the back seat while a multi page contract’s placed in front of her.  Under duress, no time to think, even to really read the full multi page document, she signs without being allowed to read any of the fine print.

       Kept clothed only in the bath robe, left alone for a few minutes as the chauffeur leaves with the signed contract, a short ride follows to the private airport where she’s given a hefty drink and a light sedative as she finds herself boarding the corporate plane.  In just a few short hours, still in the middle of the night, it lands in an isolated area.  An uneventful trip from the private airstrip, still groggy, she’s led by the accompanying chauffeur into her new residence, a secluded manor house on its own gated compound.

Led through the house to a dimly lit master suite on the second floor, she notices a glass divider to what appears to be an isolated control room at the far end of the room.  Well lit, a computer on a centered desk, she can’t help noticing the various implements and clothing aligning a couple of the walls with a counter top seeming to be overflowing against one side.

       “That’s your work area… That’s were you’ll be spending most of your time for the majority of the duration of your contract.”  He instructs as he leads her by her arm.  “To perform for his guests by their e-mail requests.”  He quips as he stops just outside the open door, blocking it with his body.  “It shouldn’t be much of problem… After all… You’ve had plenty of experience already… I’m sure you know what’s expected of you by now!”

       Staring in through the glass, she realizes the computer’s set up as at home, even down to the camera mounted above the monitor.  Its red light already glowing, it’s directed toward the vacant chair, a leather chair with some unusual modifications.  Other cameras are also visible, aligning the walls front, rear and from above.

       “You’re to remain in the room unless expressly permitted to leave… Regardless of any personal reasons.”  He continues after giving her a few moments to soak in the setup.  “That is… If you expect to fulfill your part of the contract… But then you know that leaving will obviously terminate your employment… No second chances… Period… Matter of fact, you’re better off to stay on the estate… And you can only do that if you stay employed… You see… You’re illegally in another country now.”  Watching her startled look, smiling himself, he adds.  “He has connections here with his corporation… Deep connections… And a passport… You don’t… It could take months, even years for you to go through this court system if charged with illegally entering into this country… That time would be spent in some rat infested prison camp… Think what you’re going to be going through with the computer now… Then multiply that by ten in one of these jails!... Yes!... Think about that if your contract seems to be getting the best of you!”

       Stepping away from the door as he finishes speaking, slipping her robe down from her shoulders, across her bare breasts, he gives a final order.  “Enter the booth naked… Leave the booth naked… At all times unless directed by the computer… Now… Get to the computer… Turn it on… Several of his guests are on line, awaiting you… Time to get started on your new contract obligations.”

       Standing naked in front of him as he folds the robe across his arm, she glances into the room before stepping toward the computer.  Sitting in the chair as he closes the door behind her she glances back toward the glass partition, just shadows, darkness from the other side.  Glancing back toward the computer, taking a deep breath, she finds it practically impossible to digest his words.  Clicking the mouse, the screen lights up… ‘Welcome BTA… You have mail.’

       Her body slumping, the memories of her home computer jolting her back to reality, she hesitantly flicks the keys, waits barely a moment or two as she scans the several message headings all directed to ‘BTA.’  Flicking the flashing one first, the words scroll on the screen for her to read.  ‘Each message is programmed for one half hour increments… Fifteen minutes are allotted between each message or the previous must be re-implemented… Three of the e-mails must be randomly fulfilled for this session… Begin with your choice of order… Three… Two… One…’

       Glancing toward the camera, toward the others with red lights flickering around her, she flicks the next message.  ‘Watch video carefully… Observe with complete attention.’

       The screen quickly switching to its ‘Real Player’ she sees the close up of a naked, young attractive woman obviously in distress.  Facing a camera with a prison like cell display behind her as she sits on a three legged wooden stool, she apprehensively reaches toward a wicker tray to her left, nervously picking up a glistening skewer with her left hand, shakily gripping her left breast with her right hand.  The girl noticeably glancing past the camera to its background, she slowly nods as a tear traces down off her cheek.  Squeezing her breast, the nipple bulging, her fingers visibly tremble as she forces the tip of the skewer against the edge of her swelling nipple.  Biting her lip as her stomach hollows, twisting her head, she rams the needle inward, a trickle of blood dripping as the pointed tip breaks through the other side.  Pushing the skewer halfway through, she drops her hands toward her side, glances again past the camera through her tears.  In just seconds, a sorrowful nod and she’s again reaching toward the tray, picking up a second skewer as the screen goes blank.

       Her heart pounding, waiting for the screen to return, Brooke has a sinking feeling in her stomach as she instinctively reaches for her own aching breasts, palming, caressing both as she sees the white letters beginning to scroll upwards.  Moaning to herself, her fears are confirmed as the message reads out.  ‘Retrieve two of the three skewers on counter against wall… Pierce both nipples as shown… While sitting in front of monitor.’  The letters scrolling off the screen, another still photo of the girl appears, staring toward the camera, her hands behind her head, both nipples dripping blood, skewers centered through each…. ‘One minute to start… Fifty-nine…Fifty-eight...’

       Heart pounding, her body already physically beaten down, mentally drained from the past few agonizing hours, she moans as she swivels around in the chair.  A couple steps toward the shelf, the glistening skewers immediately obvious, she hesitantly picks up a pair, slips back onto the chair to face the computer screen.  Watching the countdown, covering her breasts with her forearm, she watches the numbers dwindle to single digits, finally to zero.

       The white block letters scrolling up the screen superimposed above the girl’s image, she really doesn’t even have to read the instructions as it explains what to do to her left breast first as the countdown begins.  “Three… Two… One…’  Gripping her breast, squeezing as she saw the painful image of the girl do, she bites down on her lower lip as she forces the sharp tip against the outer edge of her bulging nipple.  Feeling the self inflicted pain, the tip sinking into the hard nub, she grunts, shutters as she feels the needle pricking her aching flesh, pierce the outer side, slipping to a stop against the inner edge.  Holding her breath, squinting her eyes, she hears the ‘plopping’ sound as the needle rams through.  “Oomph!”  Holding back a scream as she continues to chew on her lower lip, feeling the warm blood dripping across her fingertips from her pierced nipple, she evenly centers the needle as a solitary tear drips off her chin.

       The screen momentarily blanking before going dark, she feels the pulsing in her burning nipple as the sensation of the metal impaling her flesh sends tremors up her spine.  Waiting for the screen, knowing her right breast is next, she fights off the urge to jump up, leave the room.  Knowing she has to continue, waiting for the screen to light up again, for the dreaded instructions, she resists tugging, jerking the skewer from her breast as she fidgets in the chair, reaches for her right nipple, pinches it between her fingernails, subconsciously simulating the certain upcoming pain.

       The screen lighting up with the obvious instructions she knew all to well was coming, it’s still devastating as she watches the countdown.  Shaking her head, she frustratingly jams the sharp tip against her other nipple.  “Oomph…. Aaggghhh!”  Grunting, shrieking, the needle jams into her hardening nipple, grinds, twists as she pushes, pulls back, pushes again.  “Aaaagggghhh!!!”  Another jamming thrust, squeezing, twisting at her searing breast, she feels the tip of the skewer finally ‘plop’ through. “Ooommmpphh!”

       Shaking, the warm blood again trickling across her fingertips, she slumps back as she finishes centering that skewer.  Seeing just the vision of the naked girl exhibiting her bleeding breasts left on the monitor’s HD screen as the white block letters directing her disappear, she almost reflexively sits upright, assumes the girl’s pose as the scroll ordered.  Stretching her arms up behind her head, interlocking her fingers behind her neck, she thrusts her breasts outward, the traces of her dripping tears mixing with the crimson tinge of blood collecting across her areolas, nipples as the pair of glistening skewers twitch, jiggle for the camera.

       A countdown scrolling up the screen with instructions to face her counterpart until the time expires; she realizes she’s to assume the pose for the next twenty-two minutes and sixteen seconds, until the half hour is up for this sadistic exercise into pain and humiliation.  Both breasts pounding, thumping with each heartbeat, she glares toward the image, toward the similarly pierced breasts of the tortured girl’s image, the red light of the computer cam flickering above the monitor as her mind dwells on her predicament.

       The time slowly ticks by, yet the concern, the unknowing of what’s next begins to concern her more then the pain of her impaled nipples even as they constantly ache, pulse.  Less then five minutes clicking off the screen, her arms cramping, her shoulders tighten as she unconsciously adjusts for the pain in her breasts.  Finally just a few seconds to go, she feels her fingers twitching, the dampness collecting on the back of her neck from her clenching fists.  Clicking to zero, she waits a few moments, leans forward and slips her hands beneath her tortured breasts.  Cupping, lifting upwards, the skewers glistens as her nipples twitch in her fingertips.  Seeing the time resetting for her break, the fifteen minute countdown beginning, leaning back and wondering what’s next, what e-mail to open next, she cautiously leans her head back against the backrest, closes her eyes, concentrates on the pulsing pain of both breasts, the strange sensation of the metal impaling her tit flesh.

       Lack of sleep, the sedative, the contract, everything mounting, the physical, mental anguish overwhelms her as the brief fifteen minutes pass by.  The skewers weighing heavily on her breasts, finally opening her eyes, glancing at the flashing computer, she realizes the time’s up.  Lurching forward, hitting the keys, she’s terrified she’s missed her allotted time.  Glaring at the e-mails, seeing a new one flashing, she quickly hits the button.  Her emotions are mixed as she realizes she’s on time.  Opening the message, she stares at the screen.

       ‘BTA… Remove skewers… Then proceed to your next pick...’

       Again her emotion’s a rollercoaster ride, glad the skewers are coming out, yet the unknown of what’s next in line for her from a yet to be chosen e-mail message.  Carefully sliding the left skewer outward, slowly and painfully, she finally lays it on the computer table, reaches over and begins to slip the right skewer through that stretching nipple.  Trying to minimize that pain, tugging, giving a jerk, it plops out as she lays that skewer on the computer table next to the other one.  Again biting at her lip, hitting the next in line e-mail, watching it open, she stares at the instructions scrolling up the screen with a slow disapproving nod, a low moan.

       Slowly spreading her legs, agonizingly lifting her feet to the sides of the chair, her heels resting in grooved cups on either side, she slips the fingers of her right hand up between her parting lips, licks, dampens them as the countdown approaches single digits.   Forcing three, four fingers between her thighs, her aching breasts swaying as she arches forward, she jams her hand inward at zero, pushing, pumping as the screen directs.  Forcing her thumb to cup against her palm, jerking her hips, she feels the folds of her labia stretching, practically tearing as she tries for the first time in her life to fist fuck herself.

       Just over half of her hand inside, twisting, pumping in and out, she forces her hand to contort, to form into an oval position.  Spreading her thighs, gripping at her spreading vagina with her other hand while grunting, shoving and thrusting at the same time, she feels the burning, searing of her stretched vagina as the widest part of her hand finally slips in.  “Oomph!”  Feeling her wrist slipping inward, glancing down, she surprisingly realizes her whole hand is somehow fitting inside her.  Making a fist, feeling the walls of her vagina stretching, gripping at her own hand, she humiliatingly glances at the flickering red light of the camera above the monitor, again at the letters imposed across the screen giving her the next disgusting orders even as she can’t help wondering who’s watching, and how many.

       Continuing to follow the scroll, cupping her sore left breast, lifting, stretching her bulging globe toward her tilting face, pressing her lips across the tip of the oozing nipple, she sucks it in, painfully clamps her teeth across the pierced nub, tasting the blood, her blood, and sweat.  Again surprised that her nipple can stretch all the way to her mouth, actually be sucked between her lips, she keeps her lips locked across the oozing nipple, trying her best to follow the monitor’s continuing instructions.  Slowly, apprehensively pumping her fist in and out between her spread thighs facing the camera, her wrist bone disappearing, reappearing with each thrust as she pinches, twists her other nipple, she stretches it outward between her fingernail, thumbnail also in full view of the camera as the instructions form across the monitor.

       Working her breasts, pumping her vagina, occasionally glancing toward the countdown, the still over twenty some minutes of humiliatingly, painfully fist fucking, tit sucking; nipple pinching for the web camera seems like an eternity.  Breasts aching, vagina tearing, she grunts for breath, contorts on the chair as it rocks, swivels under her flexing body.  Her mind nearly blank, trying just to survive, to get past each humiliating instruction, she forces herself not to think of her future, her past, of anything else.  Legs quivering, body aching, an occasional glance, the time seems to pass in slow motion. Eighteen minutes, sixteen, twelve, her wrist’s sore, her thigh’s raw as she masturbates her vagina with her pounding fist.  Ten minutes, eight then seven, her body sweats, the perspiration sticking to the leather of the chair as she grunts, groans, mentally, physically exhausted.

       Less then five minutes remaining, her wrist barely moving inside her, her hand cramping, soaked with the sticky bodily fluids oozing inside her, sweat dripping across her brow, she notices the flashing screen with three minutes to go.  ‘Remove hand from vagina… Suck fingers clean while pinching, then stretching both nipples toward camera with other hand... Three… Two…’  Jerking her fist out from her thighs, her clenched fist resisting, she twists, adjusts her fingers, her hand finally ‘plopping’ free, the sucking sound noticeable as she slips her glistening fingers disgustedly toward her mouth.  Sticky, slimy, she tastes herself as a finger, a couple fingers slip across her lips, into her mouth, presses against her tongue.

       Even as she reflexively gags, pinching her burning nipples together, clamping them between her thumbnail and fingernail, she tugs, stretches toward the camera, her breasts thumping with each heartbeat.  Glancing toward the countdown, licking across the web of her hand, her thumb, she continues to halfheartedly twist and tug at her throbbing, oozing nipples.  Less then a minute and counting, her stomach nauseated, she fights back the burning in her throat as she licks her fingers for the final time.  Hitting zero, she slumps back, releases her breasts allowing the battered globes to sway, bounce across her perspiration soaked chest, her knees still spread, her vagina oozing across the damp leather seat.  Another appreciative fifteen minutes of respite, she closes her eyes, takes a couple deep breathes.  Aching everywhere imaginable, now she faces yet another dilemma, the realization she needs to relieve herself.

       Her kidneys’ beginning to ache, she glances toward the door, realizes she can’t leave.  Holding her thighs together, glancing at the time left, she frets about what’s next, about how long she can hold herself.  Ten minutes left, just knowing she needs to urinate seems to force the issue even more as she noticeably squirms on the chair.  Less then five minutes, she can feel a trickle on her thigh, unsure if its urine or the stickiness still oozing from her self fisting.  Counting down to a couple minutes, finally the last minute, then to zero, her legs firmly pressed together, she watches as just the original e-mails remain, then right at zero, a new blinking message.

       Apprehensively opening it, her eyes almost frozen to the screen, she reads the sickening order as she realizes the camera’s told on her, letting her obvious discomfort show to whoever is observing her embarrassing ordeal.  ‘BTA… Option one… Relieve yourself at the toilet in the suite and then immediately pierce your clit with the third skewer… Or Option two… Urinate in cupped hands… Drink… Lick up any spillage… Three… two… One…’

       Reflexively, instinctively, instantly reaching between her thighs, the skewer not even an option in her panicking mind, she feels the warm urine squirting, filling, overflowing her quivering hands, mixing with her other bodily fluids until she tries to hold off but still trickles.  Leaning forward, the odor of her urine mixing with her vaginal secretions, she forces her face close to her cupped hands.  Hesitating, but quickly thinking of how painful piercing her clit would be she takes a deep breath as she closes her eyes.  Pressing her quivering lips into the warm, sticky fluid, gagging, tilting backwards on the chair, most of her urine streaks across her lips and chin as less then half’s left to slosh around inside her mouth.  Gagging as she swallows, again reaching down between her legs, she again spurts into her forced cupped hands as she arches forward.

       The stench spreading, the leather between her thighs wet and sticky, she again reaches toward her mouth, gags as she forces her face between her clenched fingers.  Drinking, swallowing just a little more, sure she’s going to upchuck; she again slips her hands between her drenched thighs, spurts again.  Her chest, stomach, thighs saturated by her urine, perspiration as they mix and drip across the leather seat that’s becoming a hazy glaze, she again gulps the little fluid she can cup in her hands as she slides forward, slips off the front of the chair onto her knees.

       Glancing toward the seat, the floor, toward the computer, she reads the stationary scroll.  ‘Lick the urine clean… Or pierce clit…’

       Leaning forward, disgustedly lapping at the seat, her tongue sticking to the glistening leather, again she reflexively gags, forces herself to somehow continue.  Her breasts dragging across the edge of the seat, her raw nipples burn, shinning with her urine.  Licking, lapping, forcing herself to continue, she constantly struggles not to heave, to vomit as her glistening naked body mops the floor.  Struggling to the very end, as clean as she feels possible, she stands, turns and sets on the sticky chair, nauseated, aching, confused.

       Glancing toward the blinking screen, she slowly hits the buttons, hazily starts to read the newest e-mail.

       ‘BTA… You may exit the booth until 1800 hrs… Bathe… Shave… Return on time… You will be served in your suite… Do not be late…’

       Somehow feeling a sense of relief, yet virtually every other emotion overlapping, she stands, holds her mouth as she grabs for the door.  Forcing it open to sprint toward the restroom, she glances toward the curtains, sees the morning light shinning through as she finds the open restroom door.  Slipping across the marble tile, wet feet above head as her butt cheeks bounce off the floor, turning on her side, crawling; she vomits just short of the toilet bowl.                     

END PART 5