All the usual disclaimers. Over 18s only. This is imagination, not based on reality.

The Dice.

1.

I’d only been in the country a few hours when they opened the door of the land cruiser, the stopping of the vehicle and sudden rush of cool early morning air pulling me finally from the last lapping of the dream lake. They had drugged me of course. And put me in this evil restraint. There were at least two of them. At my short initial meeting there had been only my Master.

The steel across my body was unyielding and tight as they lifted me out of the car and onto the dusty gravel of the road surface. The massive chains were as heavy as I had anticipated when they set me on my bare feet. My new Master immediately took the genital chain and used it to pull me off the road into the dead grass. The pain was intense and I tried desperately to waddle as fast as I could to relieve it.

Walking normally was impossible due to the massive steel ankle irons that hobbled me with the short six inch chain between them. The chain, as all the others, was large and heavy and it dragged through the underbrush as I scuttled along, further impeding me and making me worry for stones or stumps of the thin trees which were scattered hereabouts.

My wrists were locked in the same way at my front, the linking chain keeping my wrists just a few inches apart and its weight making my muscles ache already. It was chained to the ankle chain and also up to the steel loop which was bolted around my head, tight against my chin.

My face was circled by three such steel bands, which were locked together at the back of my head. The bands were an inch wide and ran tight across my shaved skull. The uppermost belt of steel ran across my eyes, blocking much of my vision and it was tight enough around my head that it hurt to tense my face muscles. The central steel loop ran just beneath my nose, making breathing through my nostrils almost impossible. It narrowed to half an inch wide at the front so that it was clasped under my septum, crushing into my gums behind and utterly rigid. My lips protruded enough that I could see them even with my obscured vision, purple and pulsing under the strain of the gripping steel head bondage. I could still move my jaws a little, maybe enough to talk and plead the safe word to him if not for something unseen and hard stuffed in my mouth.

My neck had a thick steel collar, which kept my neck straight, so that my steel-encased head pointed at my Master’s back as I hobbled along in my bow-like stagger, my eyes fixed to the path.

There was a further steel loop cinching my waist, and it was to this that my wrist cuffs were also chained, further limiting their movement and making my hands useless should I trip and fall.

There was something large in my anus, steel again, and it conducted the chill of the air deep inside me. I guessed that it was some kind of ass hook and that it was chained to the waist loop at the back.

I hobbled onward as the ground grew a little softer and we started to raise, the tight steel ring around the base of my genitals constricting them and its chain threatening to rip them off with each stagger in my progress. My Master was unconcerned.

I was feeling very scared. The disorientation of the drugged unconsciousness was being frozen away by the morning cold, and with clarity came a deeper understanding of my peril. I could scarcely even remember what he looked like; the initial meeting had been so brief.  We had agreed a safe word, chatted about my long flight, and that was the end of my memory. I had foregone the usual safety guidelines in favour of pursuing the thrill, and this is where it had led me. Few people knew where I might be, and all of those were merely online acquaintances. I would try the safe word as soon as the chance came; my Master’s air was one of silent determination, but the other man might be easier.

We continued, the rise becoming quiet steep and my breathing coming in sharp gasps, each time saliva dribbled from within my mouth, around the hard round object jammed within.

“Interests,” the man leading me said. “Endurance bondage, outdoor bondage, extreme BDSM, torture, slavery, cages, modification.”

I didn’t understand. We had met on a BDSM site, but my profile didn’t carry that information. I was more into rope and softness. The antithesis of this, to be exact.

Something whipped me hard across the cheeks of my backside and I screamed, fell. My new Master stopped as the other man whipped me again with a long fallen tree branch. I shrieked, but the sound was mostly blocked by the obstruction in my mouth and the tight bands around my head caused a great deal of pain with the action. I tried to roll away from the next strike, down the steep slope, but my new owner stamped his heavy boot down onto my face, crushing my head into the soft grass and pinning me in place.

His colleague continued to hit me, the pain was massive and my vision started to dim at the edges, unconsciousness falling as he finally stopped. I could see the bright red welts already growing on my skin, maybe a hundred distinctive stripes, spotting with blood.

“Let’s do him here, I ‘m in the mood now,” my assailant said.

       “OK.”

       One of them dropped a canvas bag to the ground, and it rattled with the sound of more terrible steel. My Master took his foot off my head and lifted me to all fours by pulling on the ass hook and a ring on the top of my head bondage. I was easily controlled, my grunts doing nothing to slow them.

       Panic overcame me as understanding of their words sunk in. I thrashed ineffectually against the chain and steel, and they did nothing until I tired myself out and lay there panting, my thoughts blanked by terror.

       I was rolled onto my side, curled up in the enforced foetal position and I felt a sharp prick in my backside, followed by two or more. My owner threw the empty syringes to the ground. Then they rolled me over and I could finally see their faces again. The other man was younger than my Master, and more heavy-set. He was smiling down at me.

       He knelt besides me and grabbed my bloated top lip, pulling my head towards him. “Give me your tongue,” he said. He pulled the object from my mouth, it was an apple, a small crab-apple and it was now that I noticed others about, lying on the ground around us under the trees. He pinched my lip and ground it between finger and thumb. The other man was controlling me by holding my chains.

       “Euphrates. Euphrates,” I said, my voice dry and weak. The safe word had no effect, as I had feared, except that it gave him a chance to grab my tongue painfully. Quick as a flash he brought up a hole-punch and clamped it around my tongue. With a dull click and a spear of horrendous pain, he made a hole through the middle of the organ. I screamed fully now, blood from my maimed tongue splattering across his face and the trees above seeming to tremble in sympathy with my agony. Yet again, a blackout should have been close, but instead I felt very awake, my body tingling not only with the hellish pain, but with a brightness and alertness that could only have come from the injections. I was turned easily like a sheep in the hands of a drover and my owner reached down to slip an open padlock through the wound in my bleeding tongue.

       I screamed and pleaded, my voice was unintelligible due to the small but heavy lock, my tongue pulled out of my mouth and across the steel of the chin loop by the weight.

       Next from the tool bag came a shiny hollow steel tube. My Master tried to insert into my mouth, the padlock fitted easily through but my teeth were uneven and caused the tube to jut out an angle.

       “Have to remove them,” he said. His friend wrapped his forearms around my neck and my torturer took heavy blunt pliers from his bag. I struggled and bucked, but of course the steel and their strength was too much.

He clamped the blunt nose of the tool around my top incisor. The other man clamped his fingers around both of my lips and used the purchase to keep my mouth fully open.

       I was falling into a well of terror. I had not experienced real terror before, thought in my naivety that it was just an escalation of fear. But, it’s not. It’s a different emotion which most are lucky enough to avoid. Terror, brothered with hopelessness and total despair.

       The tooth held.

       “Not enough leverage ‘cause of the steel,” my owner said and snapped the tooth off instead.

       I blacked out for the merest of moments, dreamt of orchards in the twilight, peace and serenity, a haven far away from the horror of my reality. The drug pulled me back quickly to meet the destruction of my next tooth.

       Once they were all gone, and I was only a piece of wounded meat, shivering on the edge of catatonia, the tube was rammed in again sparking a swift supernova of agony as it scraped across all those open stumps and my breathing became a hissing wheeze through the metal. The padlock tinkled against the steel of the tube as my tongue hung through it.

My fingers were flexing spastically in the irons, and I was aware of it on some level as my mind was backed against the wall of drug that prevented sleep or any relief of unconsciousness.

The tube kept my mouth wide, and together with the steel above and below my mouth, to which it was soon clipped, kept my jaws immoveable at the limit of their mobility. A spark of panic hit me, thrusting into the agony and disturbing it enough for my disjointed thoughts to feel. I retched repeatedly, issuing the last plane meal and the rest of my stomach contents onto the patch of blood and broken teeth soaking into this foreign soil. I retched until my stomach muscles cramped with the pain, and still it continued, trying vainly to expel the hard cold metal bloating my straining mouth.

They moved me again, clasping my septum bone with the hateful puncher. My hands were already under control enough to be flapping at the tube gag, their chain far too short for me to even touch my chin with these cold buzzing fingers, now they tried to move the punching tool. My legs were kicking with the same uselessness, and it was then that I saw the woman with the camera that was filming this whole horrible situation. My mind came together enough to realise how amusing my uncontrollable and pointless thrashing was to her before my vision was expunged by the closing of the tool.

Cold air ripped through the new piercing. Later, in all the time I have been given in which to recall, I would remember the small impact of the plug of bloody bone as it bounced off my heaving chest and the corresponding fantasy of an apple falling in that magical dream wood.

The orchard rose in my vision again, and I smelt apples with such a deep clarity that I was almost sent into a high by the smell alone. The pain faded just enough to allow a hint of recognition of the dream before hell came back with the punching of my left nipple.

In and out of the dream state I was thrust by more attacks, my other nipple, my ears, my scrotum, each time the blissful dream becoming less blissful, more like the hell of reality, and losing its potency to comfort me.

My ball chain was dropped and my Master locked a chain into the padlock through my tongue. It reawakened with new agony as he used it to pull me onward again. My tongue was wrenched immediately and the muscles sparked with pain. I lost the movement of it, but it still didn’t come lose when I tripped in my hobbling chain and he had to pull me up with it. I realised that I was screaming like an animal now, and if anyone could even hear us in this wilderness they wouldn’t even imagine that it was a human being tortured.

His colleague slipped heavier padlocks through the other newly made holes as I was hurried along, eliciting new shrieks each time from the bleeding flesh that was somehow disassociating with me, and we moved on, ever up the steep slope, my body only able to move thanks to the damnable drugs they’d given me.

I heard the snap of a still camera.

Finally, the slope flattened out and they slowed to a walking pace.

“Slow piggy,” the woman said, and the sheer hate in her voice made a new eruption of terror explode in my thoughts. The tone said I was indeed no more than an animal to her. Safe word, what a joke.

       I was pushed to the ground, the heavy padlocks set about me bouncing painfully.

“Wait here, I’ll find it.,” the other man said.

My Master put his boot on my chest, crushing my wrist chains to me and holding me to the ground. The woman came up to tower over me also, the video camera now focused tightly on my face.

“Advice,” he said, and past the silver steel cutting my view in half, I could see a pensive expression.

“Don’t indulge dangerous fantasies over the internet,” the woman interjected, bringing a smile to the terrifying man who now owned me. So easily taken, this little piggy.

“You’ll have to suck up food; this will require some kind of mashing first. Use the flame to cauterize your fingers, later you’ll be able to use the stumps to crush up food.” He paused. Icicles of absolute terror stabbed my heart and my cramping guts. “Infection shouldn’t be much of a problem in the beginning thanks to the medicine, so worry about that when it happens. You might need to develop a strong stomach.” He laughed, and I saw the woman shake the camera as she shared the same horrible mysterious joke.

The retching started again, my poor damaged body instinctively trying to eject the steel invader. Their laughter increased and she actually looked around the camera to see into my eyes. She winked at me. The terror was enough to take me back into the little garden, the pain fading slightly again for the shortest aching moment until the retching pulled me back, a small stain of green bile across my chest my only reward.

“Try to find a little place in your mind. If you can get there you may

survive, and it will help later, if there is a later.”

I was making little moans as each new realisation found its way through the ring of agony that I was within; the woman pushed her camera close up to my face to catch them.

       “Every six months we roll a dice, and if your number comes up we come back for you, see what we find. You can think about that while you wait.”

       The woman grunted amusement again. I didn’t have the strength for hatred, only terror.

“Found it,” the other man called, returning. The garden felt far away now. My body ached under the tight steel, my mind panicked still, constrained by it. More moans escaped me, and it was fully me making them. I knew the drug was locking my consciousness in place, preventing any enduring peace. I was clouded in despair as they dragged me slowly along the top of the slope, in a new direction now.

“Here,” the other man said.

I was a crying, wheezing wreck as we were stopped again, pulled up onto my knees, hands held in a doggy begging position by the cruel heavy chain.

I saw more equipment being dropped to the ground: a small portable welder with mask, large bolt cutters, and another set of syringes. I was deep in the ocean of my terror now, my single linear thoughts almost scripted, so close did they follow to the influence of each new heightening of the torture. The cameras were still working.

“Hole in one?” My new owner said, pulling me forward a little, then back by just a touch.

       “50,” said the woman.

“OK.” Master said.

My glutinous mind understood that it was a bet. My Master kicked me in the head and I fell, rolling too far, down a new slope, head and feet smashing into the ground as I bounced in my chained foetus shape. Speed increasing. The world was a greenish and blue flicker now as my body was battered, retching, shrieking in terror and agony. The speed lifted the chains and made them into lashes which flayed my body in its bouncing tumble.

The slope steepened, I was driven into blackness by a terrible blow to the steel of my head, came back quickly. Then, impact. A tree flashed past. The sword of pain rose from my foot upwards as I tumbled in mid air, crashing down again. My lower leg was flapping spastically, and it was a moment of more bouncing, crashing confusion until full pain of the broken leg hit me.

Then next impact jammed soil into the hollow mouth tube, cutting my breathing to a whimper and stifling the screams from the renewed, relentless agony.

I think I prayed to God in that time, but the memory is broken by my ordeal since. It is all a can do to create this essay, after which I feel I will lose myself completely.

A smashing clang of steel on steel, I rolled up the opposite slope and then was brought to a stop at the bottom of the long steep slope. Chains had wrapped all about me, one around my neck grasping the airflow to almost nothing, painting dark patches around my narrow sight. I was breathing through my nose only, the soil stuffing my mouth tube far out of reach of these fluttering hands.

Three of my fingers were broken, and each was a narrow column of agony, which along with the twisted leg, bone peeping through bleeding skin, dwarfed even the former tortures.

I had landed on a steel grid at the bottom of the long steep slope, my body now beginning to stick to the cool steel of the drain with the sticky blood from my thousand wounds.

The fall should have killed me. Maybe, at least it could have. Was that any worse than dying here on this dry stream bed? I was succumbing to the lack of air when my captors reappeared, pulled me to knees once again and unwrapped the chains from about me.

I was crying and shaking as he positioned me carefully with the tongue leash to the side of the drain cover. I shivered in fear of another blow but he spoke instead.

“Kneel up,” he said. There was softness in his tone and his ability to be so calm in this situation, to fake kindness in his voice, scared me more than anything else up to then. It told me that these people would stop at nothing. A yearning for death was born there, and has been with me ever since.

His friend fired up the blowtorch. My bowels loosed and the smell started me retching again. Now I imagined the steel gag to be the terror of this life I was trying to expel. God again, a god I didn’t believe, and my soul was trying to fly free. But the chains were anchoring me to this earth as well as any magical prison. I glimpsed the orchard again, the light was fading and golden, but I couldn’t go there.

He didn’t use the flame on me, but took it to a rusting lock on the drain cover instead. “It’s a deep one, hell of a way down,” he said.

They jabbed me with the further syringes and I immediately felt my heart race and the rush of my consciousness locking even more firmly in the real world. My senses became heightened; I could smell something dead in the drain, and taste the steel and copper of blood in my mouth with a terrible strength. The pain was highlighted too of course. So I felt it as fully as is probably humanly possible when she cut the first finger off with the bolt cutters.

Blackness. Next finger. A broken one. I was stabbed in the soul by each loss. My breathing was one long scream, just a hollow hiss due to strained vocal cords. Panic had become my norm. Agony. No God would help me with death.

She picked up my fingers and tossed them into the drain. “Maybe you can eat them when they rot soft enough, eh?” Her voice was so tinged with excitement. It was a mirror for my despair.

The retching started again, throwing waves of nausea and light-headedness over me, yet the drugs kept me awake, alert, screaming my now soundless screams. I felt her shove the bolt cutters into my groin, pecking for my genitals. My awareness came clear enough that I tried to flee, but my Master was holding the chain of my tongue, and there was no fleeing.

“You do it, I want to get a good film,” she handed the tool to my Master, but he passed them to his colleague, who had just finished opening the drain cover. He pulled it open, rusty hinges doing my shrieking for me for a moment, and then stepped over to take the bolt cutters.

“Crawl piggy,” he joked, jabbing it at my face. My Master held the chain high and tight, keeping me on my knees and erasing any chance of me dodging the tool as its sharp beak clutched one of my bloated lips.

“The cock.” The woman said.

“Fun first, loosen the chain a little,” he said, and my owner obliged. The chain slipped through his fingers and now I was free.

A deep knowledge of the hopelessness of it filled me as I tried to crawl away from them. He kept jabbing at me with the bolt cutters, chasing after me now as I moved up the gulley, stumps of broken fingers little explosions as I used them for walking. My missing fingers were lasers of agony. My broken legs trailed behind me, useless.

“Run piggy,” the woman said. They all laughed.

My Master stopped me with the genital chain, pulled me back towards the dark open drain. I could do nothing when the other man slipped the blades of the tool around my smallest toe. The leg was broken and I couldn’t do anything. It flicked into the air when he lopped it off.

I was praying for a heart attack, it was indeed hammering along, but no release that way, either. He took them all, and my Master stood on my good leg to allow the removal of those toes too. Fight left me. I was simply a large lump of pain, hovering over the edge of death.

They kicked me over and I fell into the drain, but it wasn’t the immense fall I‘d imagined, There was a cage here, a small cage just large enough for me.

The woman tossed my toes in after me. The man slipped his tool around my limp cock. My soul cried as he took it away too.

“Yum yum,” the hateful woman said. My Master came at me with the blowtorch now, seared the amputations with the hellish flame. I passed out, thankfully. But there was no garden, only blackness.

The drug awakened me again, unmercifully. But some time had passed.

I was on my side in the cage, the drain mesh sealed above me. The pain was intolerable, and I had a recurring image in my thoughts of a limbless tree, as such I had become.

       A finger bone, gleaming white in the gloom, splashed a surge of confusion within me. How had such time passed? Why wasn’t I dead? But there were more here, other remains of the previous captive. I was lying on the bones of my predecessor and other dead things. The cage was small, the bones cut into my welted skin.

       When I moved I found that my padlocks had chains through them welded to the corners of the tiny cell. The crying started again, but the retching withheld for the moment. I could move only barely, or a chain would tug at my nipple, or scrotum.

       As my eyes accustomed to the light I could see my flaccid torn penis lying on the steel grille at my side. My cries came so strong that I felt the emotion would split me in two. But the pain kept it levelled, and I was stilled suddenly by my Master’s chuckle.

       “We’re alone. I wanted some quality time with you, to bond as it were.” He laughed again. I found my self obsessing his every word. Maybe he would release me from this hell, but my heart was breaking with longing and terror and the knowledge that I would surely die here. He seemed to read my thoughts.

       “Your friend there’s number came up last month, but when I came back I found she’d failed her test.

“There are a lot of fruit trees on the slope, you can probably find some of there issue in there. My bet is that along with small animals and insects which fall in, you should be able to survive until you’re lucky enough. You can drink the spill water if it rains, and if not, well, I don’t know.”

I shuffled around in the cage; found that the only comfortable position was on my knees and elbows with nose just touching the grille beneath me. My tongue flopped painfully as I saw that the chain was not welded to the cage itself but dangled through the grille into the darkness below. There was some weight on it, adding to my pain. My saliva dripped into the darkness. Dank stinking air wafted up. A large insect fell onto my back, scurrying with what felt like a million legs. I shrieked silently, but couldn’t dislodge it until it fell over my head and disappeared into the darkness of the sewer below.

“Our last guest was impregnated while here.” He paused. I shivered in the cold. Above me, through the shadow of the bars, the sun was getting bright and I knew it would be strong soon. Confusion rippled through my mind. What’s he talking about? Maybe he’s not going to leave me alone here to starve or freeze to death?

“Apparently, the cockroaches lay their eggs beneath the skin. It will probably drive you insane as they grow, feeding in your flesh, but it will give you a nice meal afterwards if you can catch the babies.”

       “Anyway, that’s all as maybe, maybe they won’t like your taste. There’s a storm coming, I think. See you.” I wasn’t sure he had left until later.

The orchard has never been back to my nightmares, now I dream of his dice, and which number I might be.

I have eaten my fallen parts. I vomited it all more than once but thankfully the narrow grille and dirt beneath me saved it from toppling into the abyss and I was able to repeatedly re-ingest it, sucking it up with all the shit through my dirty tube until it stayed down.

I spend my time on all fours, unable to comfortably move to any other position; my knees are stuck to the steel beneath me I think. Ants have set up home somewhere nearby and spend their days roaming my quivering flesh; in my nose, mouth. They get trapped in my tears and sting me.

He was right about the storm; it rained heavily and filled my cage with roaring, deafening water. For hours I struggled against the heavy chains as the water rose around me, entering the tiny cell faster than it could drain away. My stamina nearly gave out by the end of the storm, but at last I was settled again on the floor of the cage rather than stretching for air at the welded chains tethering me as the water subsided. I doubted I’d survive another such storm, unable to stretch enough to push my deformed lips above ground level. No strength left to fight. Only the first day.

I found two dead fish after the rains. Sucked their eyes out raw, my hunger finally defeating my disgust. I vomited them too, lost most of it in the darkness beneath but managed eventually to keep some of it down.

How many days have I been here? How long can I continue to survive?

Does he really roll a dice?

If you liked this story, please visit my blog and check the offers out to make a few pennies for a struggling author.

http://brightsidesun.blogspot.com/

Best Wishes. Anyone want part 2?

DemonMonsterDave  at Gmail.

A kidnapped girl is used for waste disposal.

All the usual disclaimers. Over 18s only. This is imagination, not based on reality.

The Dice.

2.

It was a heavy cube of bone, large enough that we could only dare to imagine from which unfortunate creature it had been taken. The spots were of onyx, deepest black contrasting with the polished white. It filled his fist as he tapped it against the mahogany of the desktop, thinking how it could so easily be a weapon, with its mass and edges.

“A spur for ideas, as it was once a spur for else,” he said. His companion looked up.

“Oh yes, you’re full of ideas,” the other man said, dropping his gaze back to the book he was reading with the dim glow of the bulb lamp beside him.

The room was dark, and the oily smoke of their cigarettes curled about to further obscure them. The walls were of mahogany also, and there were strips of ivory set in geometric patterns in the corners, and solely this for decoration. The only furniture was the big desk and soft leather chair for him, stool and reading table for his companion who sat next to the door. All was in the dark brown of the valuable wood.

He tapped the big dice against the desk top once more, and then laid it carefully to rest with the single point, a cruel staring eye, uppermost.

The other man looked up again. “You’re excited,” he said, a hint of maybe surprise or derision in his tone.

This brought only a soft laugh.

The phone beeped.

He pressed the speaker button and a voice said just one word: “Ready.” They both stood and left, the dice waiting with its single dark eye.

It would be a while yet before the pain from the large safety pin piercing both her lower lip and tongue would begin to drag her from the intense hallucination she was experiencing. Without the large bright blue pin, the tranquilizer which gifted this intense dream may also have caused her tongue to flop down her throat, suffocating her. A slim trail of blood had caked between the out pushed tongue and her bottom lip.

Her body and mind were existing in different planes. Her body was folded up in a small dark box, yet her mind was racing across time and space, her spirit free to soar. This was a very powerful experience for her, and she was in a mix of ecstatic freedom and profound confusion.

Her skin was pearly white, her hair a yellow blonde. Her body was firm, small and fit; naked. She was very sexy. Her breasts were small but full, and the nipples, large and pink, were upturned at a sharp angle, giving her bust the testament to her youth, for she was just seventeen years old.

Her knees were pressed just below her chin, strapped together by large cable ties, and her arms were trapped behind her and bound the same. She hadn’t moved for over 12 hours, this being the main effect of the drug, and her limbs would be as stiff as her mind would be befuddled once the brilliant effects began to dim.

The box continued its long journey, jouncing about and rattling with outside movement. The strip of caked blood fell to the floor of the container, joining a large patch of dried saliva. In her mind, time was travelling backwards at a skew, and she was reinventing memories of her last few months before this dream had begun. Some of these memories would forever be altered, their truth lost; but this was the least of her worries.

Eventually, the box was dropped, moved again and resettled. The movement brought not the slightest of wakefulness from her. She lay still, trapped, a lone captive. Doomed.

They arrived at the small gate. It was obscured by overgrowth, and there was no sign of recent passage. The big land cruiser crunched on the stony lane, large front fender nosing up against the decrepit wooden fencing. The big machine growled and nudged through the posts, and then moved onto the somewhat hidden trail beyond. From there it opened up its throat and burst forward to the secluded farm beyond.

A light rain began to fall as they climbed out of the vehicle. Two men and a woman. The sky was grey and the last of the light would soon be failing. The drive from the city had been a long one, and they all stretched before walking towards the largest building. Its large steel door was pinioned with a similarly chunky chain; both of these looked new and alien against the crumbling stonework of the old building. The woman, her face and body obscured by the large coat she wore, showed a key, and then opened the big lock. The three went inside.

It was a matter of minutes to move the box into the back of the vehicle; it was light and they were strong. The woman left a small fire in the building, to erase everything, and they were soon on their way again.

“Drive fast,” the leader said, “See if you can wake her up.” And so his companion floored the accelerator when they reached a decent road.

It was late evening the box was finally laid to rest in the large lobby of his home. It was a large brightly lit room, dominated by the large entry doors and double staircase at the rear. There was seating for about twenty people, couches in the corners and a fully equipped bar in the back corner. The owner of the house sat with the woman on a plush leather sofa, while the big man set about the box with a long thin cane. The captive still wasn’t awake, and now it was time to play.

She stirred at the booming sound resounding through her tiny world, a first switch flicked in the darkness of her dreams. The pain from the pin then finally began to reach her besieged mind, and more alertness began to reach her. The beatings on the box grew clearer to her mind, and the pain sharper. She realised that she had a body, and was not just a flitting spirit. Her body was cramped and it was this pain that really kicked her back towards the surface. She groaned, a bubble of snot bursting on her upper lip.

The banging turned to a scraping, and then a creak as the lid of the box was pried upon. Then bright searing light smashed into her closed eyelids, pushing the dream to the back and igniting reality. The pain hit her fully as the box finally collapsed, she tried to scream as the man lifted her from the wreckage and her muscles finally stretched. The pin prevented a scream but it tore her lip, bringing automatic beads of tears to her clenched eyes.

The man controlled her easily with a large hand gripping the back of her neck, and then he began to slap her naked bottom.

“Do you like her, John?” He asked.

The man stood. He was smiling.

“She is perfect,” he said, “let’s chain her up.”

       She was back in the dream for a while, but the pain was constant and kept her half-grounded like a fish out of water. They moved her to the playroom under the lobby, the woman carrying the man’s drink as he carried her over his shoulder. She groaned when she was moved, and showed enough life to ensure recovery, but it wasn’t until the cable ties were cut away that she was finally caught in this terrible reality.

Screams were impossible, so all she managed was a spastic sobbing; the pain as her limbs were stretched out was so enormous. He chained her in a standing spread-eagle in the middle of the large underground chamber. John and the woman took another sofa as the other man set about the captive. The woman had a camera now, and filmed everything, lingering on the small trolley of tools beside the new slave.

“Good evening, my dear, nod if you can hear me,” John said from his comfortable seat. The girl was shaking in her steel bondage, the chains rattling soundlessly. Her arms were held up and sideways, tightly chained to loops in the ceiling, and her legs similarly to loops in the floor. There was ample space around her in the large rock-walled room. Her mind was still very fuggy, so she heard the words but didn’t understand them.

The man standing beside her slapped her hard across the face, and her new master repeated himself. She nodded - a simple up down movement only - followed by a muffled gasp at the pain of even that.

“You have been kidnapped for use as a slave. We understand that this is completely against your will,” he took a short sip of his brandy. The girl continued to shake.

“Do you understand me?”

She nodded again, no gasp this time. Her body was limp now, and he could see the effect his words were having on her. Her spirit was being ground.

“There is no hope of escape or release. We are going to use you for our fun until we decide to kill you. You will never see any of your family or friends again. Your life as it was is ended.”

The woman stood, panned the camera around the room, and got close-ups of the girl first, then her handler, then the master as he continued his cruel monologue.

“My house has been extensively designed for my purposes. I have large grounds and many building built with my predilections in mind. More importantly for you, the plumbing and waste system here is pretty much unique. There is a steel waste tank beneath us, set into the actual bedrock, and it is here that you are going to be placed. Open your eyes.”

She did so, blinking at even the shallow light levels in here. She was calm, another desirable effect of the massive dose of the tranquiliser she had been given. Her eyes were dejected, terror was within them but it couldn’t yet extend itself into her tortured body.

The woman focussed the camera on the girl, the bright beam of its light hurting her eyes, but she struggled to keep them open.

“The tank collects all the waste from the estate, including all toilets, kitchens and the stables. It is somewhat separated by gravity before it enters your little home by two outlets. There is one no other outlet, except for a plastic tube into which your catheters will empty. Thus, as you will come to appreciate, the only way for household waste to exit into the sewers is through you.”

The handler showed her a large doubler catheter, with a large hose that he proceeded to slide into her anus. She tried to scream again, but was of course unable to. When he had finished, he wiped the snot and saliva away from her face roughly and rubbed in on her quivering breasts instead, then he bent again to cruelly slide the urinal catheter into her bladder. This time she did scream, tearing the pin from her lip. Blood splattered from her torn lip, and her shakes finally became one with her pain. The catheters terminated in a single inch-wide tube, which hung behind her like a snaking tail. 

“You are truly beautiful, my dear,” her torturer said. The woman was taking single frames now, the flash a stutter of brilliant light which blinded her in its strobes.

They waited for her to calm down, which took a few minutes, watching her intently, greedily all the while. Blood was a slick across her chin from the wound, the pin invisible inside her mouth now where her tongue, like a frightened animal, had dragged it in its hiding.

“Piercings please, Richard,” her owner said, eventually.

The man before showed her a large punching tool before quickly gripping her right nipple with his thumb and finger, and then punching a hole through it. Blood welled from the wound, around the steel eye of the grommet which had been permanently placed in her flesh. He ignored her shrieks of pain and thrashing in the chains. He did her other nipple, each earlobe and then crouched again to put three holes through each of her pussy lips, and a final one – the most painful experience of her life to date - through her clitoris. The little bud was permanently stretched into a circle by the overlarge invasion; blood dripped sadly.

John resumed his speech shortly this time, and mostly for the camera as the girl was too lost in her trauma to hear him.

“These piercings will serve to hold you in place in your new home, and secure the exit tube in position.” The lower two labia piercings were padlocked over the tube stretching her labia, small steel padlock scraping painfully within the steels eyes of the grommets in her flesh.

Loops of chain were padlocked to her nipples, ears, clitoris and the remaining two labia grommets. The chains, bright stainless steel, glimmered in the glow from the camera, dancing with her trembles. Now her neck was collared by a large band of steel. It constricted her neck as the man closed it about her neck, pulling her head up by the hair to stretch her enough for the wide, heavy device. It was padlocked at the back, snug and tight.

She began to panic with the constriction of her airway by the tight steel collar, but she quickly found that as long as she kept her chin held high, she could breathe with a little more ease. Her mind was coming fully back now, but it was dominated by the terror and utter abjection of her situation. Tears were constant, and her body shook uncontrolled in the bondage, the pain a myriad fires about her punished body.

“Also, your teeth and tongue will be removed and this feeding tube put in place.”

The handler flourished a short, wide, stainless steel tube before her panicked eyes, and then a large pair of pliers.

“It is not my intention that you be able to chew your, ahem, food, and the ability to taste is not something you should desire at this point.”

The handler towered over her, gripped her nose and brought the pliers to her mouth. She kept her mouth clenched closed of course, but soon lack of air allowed him to get his hand in and wrench her jaws open. The woman came in close as the torturer extracted the girl’s teeth one by one, dropping them to the floor where they clinked to the flag stones of this horrible place.

She bucked as much as she was able, but only to release a fraction of the pain rather than in any attempt to fight. The chains hanging from her flew as she thrashed and shrieked, her blood splashing across his face and everywhere. Her mind tried to descend into oblivion, and for a moment was successful, but the next extraction would rouse her again and she would renew the fevered screams. Her owner, seated and relaxed, smiled on.

When her teeth were gone, he clamped the pliers around her tongue, and then used a scalpel to severe it at the base. This last caused her to pass out fully, and he was able to push the steel tube gag into her gore-streaked mouth and easily padlock its chains to the grommets in her earlobes.

“You’re an artist,” John said.

Richard did a curtsy for the camera, the woman sitting again.

It took a couple of buckets of freezing water to wake her, and this washed some of the blood away too. She shivered and bucked in her entrapment, retching at the massive intrusion in her broken mouth, eyes flicking in panic and absolute terror. The three of them chuckled and the handler proceeded to fill more buckets of the freezing water before dashing them over her.

“I trust you can still hear me,” her owner said from the sofa after a while. The other man sat down and the woman stood instead. They exchanged the camera. The girl didn’t respond.

“Next, my friend here is going to finish your preparations for your little holiday. She will shortly sew up your eyes, as it is pitch black in the waste cell anyway and there’s no need for you to waste energy looking for food. She will also sew little plugs into your nostrils to ensure you make full use of your new mouthpiece.”

The woman proceeded with her task, obviously enjoying her role.

“I want you to be thankful for keeping your eyes, as it would be much easier to simply pop them,” the woman whispered to the girl as she brandished a large needle and a ball of steel wire. The task took only a few minutes, the girl grunting hollowly through the tube-gag rather than screaming now. Next, the woman took a shearing tool and deftly shaved the girl’s head, her long golden locks sticking to the blood, snot and sweat on the girl’s dripping body.

The woman finished by using a soldering iron to melt the ends of her steel stitches closed, and then as an apparent afterthought she used the red hot tool to burn the girl’s eyelashes away. Screams and an insane thrashing of agony overcame the new slave toy. The woman clearly enjoyed it and now started pushing the glowing tip of the tool to the girl’s eyebrows and burning them away also.

“Okay, enough, let’s finish it before I need to sleep,” John said.

The other man stood again and picked up two steel ball mitts which he quickly closed about the girl’s wrists, then a larger pair for her feet, and she was fully prepared for her horrific new life. Unable to stand, she rocked back and forth in the chains, her damaged yet sexy little body still quivering in pain and terror.

“Now listen to me.” She made no response, so the woman beat her harshly across the back and buttocks with a thin cane that had been clipped to a rack of similar tools on one wall.

“When I speak, you listen,” John said after the woman had finished maybe fifty strokes. The girl was fully broken by the intense beating it seemed, breaths rushing in and out speckled with blood. But the next time he said it, she nodded.

“I have a dice, and I will roll it every six months. When your number comes up, we will dig you out of your little home and see what we have. It’s possible that you will then be released if you are still alive.” It was clear from his smile that this was a lie, but of course the girl couldn’t see, only them, and the camera. “Remember that you will have to eat and drink so as not to drown in the tank.”

She was a pale dripping mess in the chains, and dejection flowed from her in waves, Defeat. Doom.

Richard unhooked the chains of her wrists and she collapsed to the hard floor. He clipped a further chain to the heavy collar and simply dragged her away towards the rear of the large chamber, where a small steel door was set. She slid in the steel balls on her hands on feet, but she had too little strength to hold her tortured body from the rough flagstones of the dungeon playroom, and breathing became her sole focus, not even the dragging of the chains across the floor behind her was fierce enough to overcome the fear of suffocation as he pulled her quickly, leaving a trail of her blood, spit and tears behind her. The woman followed them, but John just sat with a small rueful smile on his face.

She was dragged down a narrow tunnel. The incline was steep and the darkness all consuming, only the woman following with the camera giving light to her handler’s progress. He reached a steel hatch, dropped the girl’s leash in order to use both hands to turn the heavy wheel, and then dragged her through the narrow opening. Here, deep beneath the large house, dark, cold and silent, was her new home, the four foot by four foot tank. It was a struggle to drag her in the tight space, but he was strong and she was small.

Once she was on all fours in the cramped waste container, her chains padlocked to rings in the walls before, beside and behind her, holding her in position, Richard lifted the heavy steel lid and used a drill to secure the screws.

He banged the steel side once with his fist, setting a reverberation throughout the steel, then he crawled out of the narrow space, back to where the woman was waiting, a rough cave cut from the rock, and made his way back up the steep slope to the door. On the way back he found the tap to change the route of the house’s waste system, so that now the girl could start filling her belly.

Soon, they were seated together in the lobby bar area again.

“How long do you think she will survive?” the woman asked, talking over the top of her brandy. The warm glow of her pleasure was in her eyes.

“Ha ha,” John said, saying the words rather than laughing. “Now I must use the toilet, take a shower and go to bed,” he said.

If you liked this story, please visit my blog and check the offers out to make a few pennies for a struggling author.

http://brightsidesun.blogspot.com/

Best Wishes. Anyone want part 3?

Living on insects.

All the usual disclaimers. Over 18s only. This is imagination, not based on reality.

The Dice.

3.

The white van pulled up at the front entrance to John’s large mansion, the gravel beneath its tyres crackling and its exhaust leaving a smoky trail in the cool morning air. The three of the stood to meet it.

The driver got out and walked briskly to the rear of the vehicle, barely acknowledging the three clients due to his professional manner. He was quickly inside and then the gate-lift rose and he wheeled a plain white coffin onto the lift. Within a few moments, the coffin was at their feet and the driver was holding a receipt for John to sign.

“Thank you, my man,” John said as the driver turned away with a simple, “Have a nice day.”

       They watched the vehicle reach the inner wall, and the automatic gate opened to allow it out onto the estate’s long exit road. Then they turned to the coffin.

       Richard, the handler, the negotiator, the assassin too, moved towards the plain wooden box and bent over it. He took a small jemmy from his inner coat pocket, a heavy coat; it was a cool winter morning. The coffin wood crunched as he cracked the lid away. He tossed the lid to the ground beside the coffin and reached within to pull the unconscious girl from within. Easily, he hefted the naked, dead weight of her over his shoulder and then carried her to the others. He then lowered her to the ground again, holding her in a standing position, with one hand tightly gripping the back of her neck, in front of them for their inspection.

       The woman was holding a small digital video camera in one hand, and now she focussed it on their captive.

       She was quite short and her skin was deeply tanned. Standing, she reached only to the armpit of the man behind her, and this helped him control her so easily. Her face was oriental, and she was extremely beautiful in that exotic way. Her eyes, a bright hazel, were framed by large lashes and peaked upwards at the corners in the eastern shape. Her breasts were pert and rather small, and her frame was thin to the point of starvation; but her sexy curves were brought out by this rather than weakened.

       “That’s a strong sedative they must have used,” John said, smiling.

       “Yeah,” Richard replied as he started slapping her face and tits with his free hand.

       On the ground around them they had placed the tools they were going to use, knowing that the house security system would be recording events for them, and enjoying the frosty chill of the morning. The girl was already beginning to shiver as Richard succeeded in beating her awake.

       Now he gripped both her wrists behind her and half-dragged her to a small pile of chain on the gravel parkway near them. She mewled slightly as she came awake, her eyes opening but still obviously groggy from whatever drug the collectors had used. She started to struggle as Richard stopped them and bent to pick up the chains. He laughed as she fought against him, trying to free her wrists from his one-handed grip, but the difference in their strength was apparent and it was only a moment before he had the chains on her, she defying him only with her short animal-like shouts of fear and desperation.

       There were five manacles which linked her neck, wrists and ankles by an uncomfortably short chain behind her. The effect of this was that when he released her and she made to run away, the best that she could manage was a kind of strange waddle, her steps tiny due to the ankle chain, her wrists trapped at the small of her back, and the neck to ankle chain forcing her into a deep crouch. The metal was heavy too, dragging her down and the ankle chain leaving a trail in the thin gravel of the parking area.

       Nevertheless, she intended to escape, and headed towards the gate in the inner wall which separated the interior estate from the extensive land without. It was closed of course, could only be opened by John or the automatic settings for familiar vehicles, and thus, when she finally attained it after a couple of minutes of frenzied waddling, with the three captors merely standing idle and laughing, she was unable to go through to safety.

       They slowly closed in on her as she along the wall away from them. It was twenty feet high and topped with evil steel spines, so along it was the only way. She trundled along, the cruel chains rattling, but her determination still strong despite the aching of exhaustion which was beginning to slow her further. She grunted and growled as she raced across the rough gravel, not even feeling the pain in her naked feet as the sharper stones bit her. But then Richard was in front of her, holding something like a large transparent rubber bag. She turned, but John was to her right, and now the woman was closing in behind her, camera trained on her frightened eyes.

       She howled her desperation again, and turned around again inside the smaller circle they were making.

       “Fuck you, fuck you,” her noises finally became words as Richard grabbed her from behind by the collar chain. She fought him with her chained limbs, trying to bite as he clamped his hand thought the steel on the collar and pushed her head to the rough ground. She screamed when he brandished an electric shears and proceeded to shave her long dark hair away. She screamed and screamed but they showed no concern, the woman crouching close in to get her expression with the camera, and the naked terror in her eyes.

       Soon her hair was gone, just an odd patch of stubble here and there. Richard pulled her back to her feet, small stones sticking to her dark skin. Now came the rubber hood.

She struggled against him, kicked and bucked, but he forced the rubber over her head. It was tight and she panicked, screeching and crying out, but soon her cries were muted by the clinging rubber snapping around her throat. It inflated slightly as she exhaled a silent scream, but otherwise was glued tightly to her head.

He released her again, and she began a crazed scramble to be free, fell to the rough gravel. She struggled up into her painful crouch and span around again, the hood bulging slightly around her mouth. Finally she realised there was the tiniest hole in front of her face, small enough to let only a narrow stream of air in or out. She could breathe, but she had to do it slowly.

The three watched in fascination as she stopped, stiffened and remained still, concentrating only on getting the sips of air through the tiny hole. Now, Richard controlled her easily, pulling her back to the arranged toys on the ground directly in front of the house. He pulled her with one finger through the collar, and she came obediently, trying to walk slowly, knowing already that exertion required too much air.

She began to feel faint, the distorted world finally in focus through the tough rubber beginning to fade again as she came close to passing out. He stopped her, and she fought the terror of suffocation in her mind as she concentrated on the urge to faint and on trying to feed her thumping lungs. The hood bulged rhythmically as she stood perfectly still in the awkward stance.

“It’s an excellent method of control,” The woman said. The girl heard her words faintly, and the meaning was obscured by the thick rubber around her ears.

“Fantastic,” John said. He lifted a hole-punching tool from the tool bag and handed to Richard. The girl, her head trapped in its opaque prison, saw what they were doing and shook her terror, but the restriction on her breathing, and the limited energy kept her still and in place as Richard grabbed her right nipple, large and brown, and pulled it away from her breast. She shivered her inability to resist them as he closed the tool over her nipple and punched a one-inch steel collar though the nipple.

She screamed in her plastic prison, but the only effect was a comical bulging of the rubber encasing her shaven skull. Her air made a hissing sound as it streamed out, and then the hood snapped back, outlining her beauty with its second, almost-transparent skin. They saw the panic flash in her eyes again as the little hole again whistled, this time with the ever so slow inward flow.

Black stars began to flash in her eyes and she knew she was passing out. Her limbs became rigid for a second before becoming limp and useless and collapsing her to the rough ground, her chains rattling upon her soft, shivering skin.

“Will she die?” The woman asked.

“Not likely,” Richard said, reaching down to pierce the left nipple also, “she’s still breathing on auto.”

He roughly slapped her thighs apart and reached into her tight, closed cleft, pinching her clitoris between thumb and forefinger. This brought her awake again, but the only indication was a change in the tone of her desperate breathing. He smiled inwardly as he punched a cruel steel grommet through her soft, young clitoris.

Again the tone of her breathing changed, and the hood bulged again. John laughed. She was soon back in the darkness.

When she finally awoke, it was at the insistence of a strong stimulant oil that John dripped from its small bottle into her breathing hole. The hood rapidly filled with the sharp fumes, and of course, from here her lungs were filled. She awakened with a start.

John was holding the steel collar in one hand, sitting in a crouch beside her prone, shaking, but sexy little body. He felt hardness rise in his pants, knew it was sight of her complete vulnerability to him. He gently tugged the chains which now connected her sore, bleeding nipples to her sore, bleeding clit. This small movement brought her quickly to full consciousness.

“Cold this morning, my little one,” he said. She was in a fog of terror and pain and unable to reply.

“I been thinking about animals,” he continued, “and it turns out that you are to become an animal. Don’t even grace the thought that you have any choice any more. If you comply it will hurt, if you don’t comply I’ll kill you slowly.”

He tugged the chain again, and the sharp pains jolted her to understanding. Her legs were folded beneath, her fingers able to touch the tight steel manacles on her ankles, but of course she could not dream of opening them.

“This hood is staying on, s you’re going to need some training on how to survive it for the time I have in mind.” He showed her a small taser with a long narrow tip, he pushed it into her face and then pulled it back to show her the blue spark as he pressed the trigger.

“Crawl on your and knees, quickly.” He gestured behind her, where the curve of the house’s wall led to a large green area of grass. She trembled, trying to rise, her mind thinking only the two thoughts, to follow his command and avoid the pain, and the ever-present concentration needed to control her breathing. The hood began to bulge slightly as she forced her tired limbs into a kneeling posture.

“Move!” He screamed suddenly, and the very force of his command jolted her body and brought the hyperventilation of panic again. She actually managed to move a few feet towards the end of the painful gravel before the lack of air knocked her unconscious again.

The three of them gathered around her to watch as he pushed the tip of the weapon between her buttocks and fired it. She leapt back into a crouch at the searing pain of the tool, her anus seared by the high powered taser. The pain clipped her mind into the correct frame and she realised that obedience was her only option. She shuffled forward in an awkward shimmy, scraping the skin from her knees on the rough stone, the weight and difficulty of the short chains forcing her to move like some strange primitive human. Her rubber head was forced low to the ground and her buttocks pushed up. They trembled as she shuffled along.

The hood was bulging quickly now as she learned the most efficient way to breathe. But still, she couldn’t move any faster than a slow walking pace. Any faster and her obscured vision began to close into a tunnel of darkness and oblivion.

He led her along the gravel, pushing her speed with the threatening tip of the tool in her pussy or ass. He made her move as fast as she was able, amused that she would stop and go limp for a second every other step as she passed out from lack of air. A poke with the taser’s unfiring tip was enough to wake her from these flashes and get her moving again. The hood was bulging quickly now, the air a high-pitched whistle as it filtered in and out.

The group moved together, the woman still filming, and Richard following at the back with a canvas bag of tools.

Eventually they stopped at the foot of slight hill. The girl was sweating profusely and her skin was a bright crimson from the exertion. Her taut hard breasts were slicked with sweat and heaving with her agonising breaths. He pulled her head up by the collar and looked into the rubber hell. She was coherent, he saw, but her face was a tinge of purple from lack of air. Her lips whitened sharply as she inhaled, the tiny hole whistling. He put his fingertip over it.

There was a thin pool of sweat which had collected at the bottom of the hood where it was clipped to the steel collar. He pulled her head forward so the sweat pooled in front of her face. More sweat was still dripping from her face, if he kept her like this she would drown. But of course, she would suffocate long before. In fact her air had already run out, and she was splashing the sweat back onto her face as the bubble of plastic tightened finally over her head.

“Drink it and then I’ll let you breathe.” She immediately began to suck the sweat from the slick plastic, swallowing quickly. He was pleased by the utter and unresisting obedience the hood created. This action caused her to fall into unconsciousness yet again, slipping forward until he halted her with her collar. He slapped her and she awoke, set again about the task. Her face was a bright purple now, and he could see death in her suffocating eyes.

When she was finished he took his finger away and the rhythm of her hurried breath began again. She was on the edge of panic for long moments, completely unable to move. Such control amused him and he felt the stiffness of his masculinity. The others arrived.

“In order to survive, all animals need to eat. As you can imagine, it will be rather difficult with your new head. Now, for training, you will move about this field finding insects, you will collect them by sucking them inside your hood and then you will return to me. Worms, beetles, any thing you can find is acceptable.

When you return, I will give you twenty jolts with this taser, for every critter you have in your hood when you return, I will give you one fewer. Be quick now girl.”

The automatic obedience that came with the constant war for enough breath spurred the girl into an immediate lurching crawl away from the group of them, further onto the expanse of grass. Her speed caused a collapse, and when she jerked awake again, her limbs stiffening and bringing laughs from all three of them, she seemed to calm down and begin to understand the sick task he had commanded her.

They watched as she dipped her head to the grass, pushing her pussy hard into the ground between her splayed legs in order to do so without falling over and examining it closely, her back a delicious curve in her tormented posture.

Her vision was obscured by the thick material, and it took her long moments to find a black beetle, crawling its way along a long grass stem.

For a moment, her conscious mind broke through the constant focus on breathing and she felt her guts tumble in revulsion for what she was about to do. But it seemed that even thinking freely used more of her precious and ever diminishing energy, so she bent forward to crush the insect against the rubber near her mouth.

The little hole was directly in front of her mouth, so she realised that she could suck small objects in. Suddenly, with an in breath, the beetle was in her mouth and she had to concentrate to stop herself from vomiting. The mere thought of this pulled the shade of panic down over her again, and with the insect still in her mouth, trapped by her closed lips, she grimly fought the revulsion and the pain in her roiling guts.

They saw her remain perfectly still for a moment, and then the hood bulged as she spat the insect into the interior. They didn’t follow her as she began to wander off.

The beetle was plastered on her cheek, as small bump in the rubber when she was breathing in, slipping slightly on each long, difficult out breath. She was shuffling forward on her knees with her face pressed closely to the ground, looking for the next ground animal.

Revulsion was a constant throb in her belly, panic overlaying it with each fevered respiration, and now, as she moved forward robotically, came a conscious memory of her terrifying situation. Maybe she was lucky that the extreme nature of it prevented any more thought along those lines, because she had to think to breathe, and move, and do as she was told. A small ladybird was next, but when she spat it out it flew crazily inside her hood, looking for an exit, bumping her face until the tight clasping of the inhalation crushed it, killed it and opened it against her lower eyelid, broken pieces eventually sticking to the moisture there to irritate her.

The robot inside, built on the complete terror of the electric agony he had given her, kept tight control of her as she crawled about in her heavy chains.

They bored after a while and he called her back. She snapped to attention at the sound of his voice and came shuffling towards him, passing out only once on the way and not even falling completely prone before the terror pulled her back to consciousness, missing only a step, like a sleepwalker jolting awake.

“Good little toy,” he said as she stopped before him in an uncomfortable kneel due to the constricting chains. He didn’t wait for her breathing to return to normal before asking her how many insects there were.

It now became apparent, to the amusement of all three of them, how difficult speaking was for her.

“I,” she could only utter the word in a gasp with her out breath, and it came out tonelessly, almost silent through the rubber, “don’t,” she managed again after a pause, “know.” They could see her dejection in the hang of her chains as she delivered the final word. Her hood bulged quickly, a sign of the effort speaking had been, and they saw the jumble of insects and broken insects stuck to her face and piled, crushed and oozing, around her chin.

He turned to the other two, a child-like delight on his face.

“It’s the perfect robot,” he said, unless commanded, it can’t afford enough brainpower to such an obvious task as counting. The restriction of breathing is the perfect method to instil docility and obedience.”

He turned back to his hunched, trembling little toy and smiled again.

“I kind of hope you may win my little game and then we can make this a more permanent fear for you.” He had intended to lie the dream of freedom to this one, but now he preferred to hammer in its fate…if it even understood anything that wasn’t a command.

“Count them, you pathetic little cunt,” he shouted, happy at the jolt of fear and the tune of the rattling chains this brought.

His animal was funny in its confusion, and he relished the moments as it knelt there unmoving, its entire world inside its head as it went over and over the problem.

She managed to slightly forget the concentration breathing required, pushing it to the back to allow room for more creative thoughts. She couldn’t remember how many insects she had collected – sucked in her mouth and spat into the rubber prison – she hadn’t counted them, could remember little due to the daze she’d been in from the exertion of it all.

She didn’t know how many, and she couldn’t count them. She could feel them, but not in a distinct enough way, except for the white larvae thing which had crushed on her lips, and now its thick mess had glued them together at the corner, and the spider, still alive in her ear, and the main cause of her constant twitches.

I’m in hell, was her only distinct and meaningful thought as her mind crashed against the problem again, much like a computer trapped in a feedback loop.

“Spit them out into a little pile and count them as you suck them back up,” he commanded, and then sat down on the soft grass a couple of metres in front of the trembling girl. Richard joined him, but the woman moved closer instead, intent on her movie.

The girl shook her head repeatedly with her face downwards, sucking in each insect and then spitting back out through the tight little hole onto the grass before her. After three, she paused, and they saw her body tense. Her breathing began to increase, and a groan of panic as the pressure of the rubber became too much. Each gasp increased her inward breath, and they saw that she was on a downward spiral into the panic. Her face was turning a livid blue, and her chest was heaving.

“Ten says this is the end,” the woman said, looking up from the view screen for an unusual moment.

They watched intently as the girl keeled over on her side, her body turning blue now, and the groans softening. But her breathing had increased tenfold, the hood flapping in and out with each sharp shallow breath. She lay there for a few minutes, the breathing eventually retuning to the normal beat. They waited it out, and John felt himself satisfied that she hadn’t died. He felt the hope of her success again, as she regained her knees and the next insect hit the small pile.

After a good ten minutes, she knelt up again gathered herself to speak.

“There…are…twelve… insects…Master.” She fell into a near collapse at the effort of that, and he laughed as he stood up again.

“Okay, these are your food. You can eat them whenever you wish. This hood is permanent and unbreakable. It is assumed that you will be able to suck up ground water, and there’s a lot of liquid in slugs and worms which are prevalent in your new habitat.”

She felt her soul begin to buckle under the terror his words induced in her. He saw this in the tremble and hang of her chains, the slump under the weight of fear setting them a dance and glinting in the late morning sunlight.

“Turn,” he guided her roughly with her collar, pointed her towards the slope. Then he reached under her body and clipped her nipple chains to her ankle chains with a padlock, restricting her to a tight kneeling position, with pierced nipples  pushed against creamy thighs, and making her unable to gain her feet at all. The padlock was large, steel and heavy, and added to the weight of her bondage on her weak body and besieged mind.

“Move,” he commanded, jamming the tip of the taser into her pussy and firing it for the first of the eight jolts he owed her. And this was the way they made progress up the gentle slope leading away from the big house.

The third time he jolted – pushing the tool painfully into the small of her back between her clasped wrists, and forcing her to fall on her face again - the pain as he fired made her vomit, and the foul yellow mess filled the hood, blocked the breathing hole and started her on the road to death.

Again they simply watched, waiting to see if she would die, but she managed to blow the sick mess out of the hole, and by eating it again and spitting it out, she managed to eventually get her breathing back to normal and resume her horrible shuffle on bruised and bleeding knees.

He gave her another shock almost immediately, and laughed at the horrific howl of agony and despair she wailed behind her rubber hood. The slope was a soft one, but it hid a small cluster of old buildings and a shallow quarry in the low area beyond. He drove her towards this with another jolt from the evil taser, and she moved willingly, her only coherent thought that he didn’t need to shock her any more. He could just command. And then back to the panic, and the terror of dying in this rubber.

The exposed rock bit into her knees, and she two trails across the dusty granite as they led her across it to the centre of the cluster of buildings. She could see through the sweat clouded latex that it was a mine, or at least it looked lie one, decrepit and old, crumbling. Then she noticed the glint of something new. A small steel trap door set into the rock.

He halted her in front of it, her crying a muffled sound.

“Now, you will be placed inside the small tunnel beyond. My friend here will then weld the door closed.”

This information stunned her into complete stillness, save the gentle tune of the chains, advertising her terror. He gripped the top of her smooth head, rolled it with his hand as he spoke to her. Richard and the woman clustered around her.

“It’s a very large mine system, and I’m pretty sure it connects with an underground cave network. There are exits inside my estate, and I’m pretty certain exits outside my walls also. Should you find a way out, I guess we will have to give you freedom. Otherwise, you’d better concentrate on finding food in there.

She saw Richard begin drilling a hole in the steel of the door, not caring that the sparks flew her way, she watched them settle in the twin trails of blood she had left. Then he went into one of the sheds and dragged a very large roll of wire on a mounted wheel in front of the steel trap door.

“In six months I will roll my die. If your number comes up, we will winch on this wire and pull whatever is left of you out. Maybe by then you’ve got to the sewers in the city, got out and cut the wire, or maybe found an underground stream to the coast; or on the other hand you’ve been eaten by one of the many predators I’ve locked inside over the years, or got trapped in a narrow crevice and starved to death, or suffocated on a particularly fat slug which blocks your little hole. It’s all so exciting isn’t it?”

Terror overwhelmed her. Richard gripped her quivering nipple chains and used them to pull her to her feet. Her scream just added to the vast lake of torment simmering in her mind, body and soul. He hefted her and flopped her body over his shoulder again. Then, he opened the steel door, looking in on the small tunnel through just a crack. It screeched as he pulled it wide and tossed the limp girl inside. She got a glimpse of darkness and a vast wall of cobwebs inside as she fell and her chains rattled on the hard rock of the small, claustrophobic space. The webs wrapped around her and she felt the skittering legs of the spiders across her body. Webs clogged across the breathing hole, and the icy stab of panic thrust into her again. She had to struggle over into a crouch in order to rub the spittle-wetted slime of the web against her calf, desperately clearing her precious breathing hole.

She lay in abject terror for a moment on the cold stone, her breathing shallow and her thoughts made of despair. She felt her clitoris chain lifted, and when it was dropped there was a new weight on it, the steel tether. The tunnel was black for dark, and now a cool, fetid breeze wafted out.

Richard grunted and slammed the door shut. The clang echoed in her ears, then in her mind, and she lay there, still as a doomed rabbit in the utter blackness of this cold, dark hell.

She heard the rush as the welder heated up. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even tremble in this deathly cold. Broken images of the mentioned predators shimmered across her paralysed mind, but snakes, or rats, or what? There was a pencil of light where her tether went outside, and this gave just the barest of glow in the closeness of the door.

A heavy clang came once on the door, almost invisible in the near-complete darkness, and she knew then that they were leaving.

Still unable to move, terrified of any journey she must make to find some way of surviving, she remained there in the cold darkness until at last a tremble came upon her, and this showed that she was yet, still alive.

-------

If you liked this story, please visit my blog and check the offers out to make a few pennies for a struggling author.

http://brightsidesun.blogspot.com/    Best Wishes. Anyone want part 4?

       The Dice.

4.

The captives arrived by plain grey box van, and soon two stout square crates were sitting on the gravel of his drive, with double promised delights within.

Richard arrived quickly on his quad, the engine roaring. He had been tending to John’s few livestock and small running farm over the hill at the other side of the extensive property. John called Maggie too, and she was soon coming out of the house with her dressing gown still untied at the waist and her hair mussed from a dreamy sleep. It was mid-morning, but she had never been an early riser.

The first crate was soon in pieces at Richard’s ministration with his trusty small crowbar, which was soon back in the inner pocket of his long jacket.

Their new toy this time was a young man, maybe late teens. He was unconscious, but Richard lifted him as easily as he had the girls, and the boy was soon locked in heavy leg irons and manacles, a broad steel collar was locked about his neck. He was efficiently bound and laid at their feet, with Maggie finally returning with her vital camera, and it was only upon the agonising application of the steel grommets in nipples, nose and through the flesh between his cock and balls that awoke the slave in stages from the  tranquilliser the collectors obviously had given him.

Richard slammed a steel tube gag into his mouth, and chained it about his head with one of the seemingly keyless, massive padlocks that added so much weight - with the chains - to their toys’ hapless bodies. The boy struggled and moaned at the pain of the new piercings, but was helpless in the heavy steel of his bondage, rolling about on the hard, cold gravel and amusing them greatly. Richard left him in his funny fear and turned his attention to the other crate.

John cheered jokingly as the second new toy appeared; it was a young girl, long blonde hair, beautiful in a pixie-like way with upturned nose like her upturned nipples on full breasts, and softly pointed ears. John could see that her hairstyle had been chosen to accent this images, and he had images of placing her in some permanent testament to this.

“Is it possible to permanently dye skin?” he asked the others, expecting that Richard would have the answer, and seeing him pause in his chaining of the girl in the same manner as the still struggling boy before Maggie interrupted with a brisk, “of course.”

“There are plenty of methods,” Richard continued, fitting the girl with her shiny tube gag, and hefting his punching tool to do her piercings. “What colour and what is troubling your delightful mind?”

“I want to turn her into a cute little doll, and we can reshape those lovely ears to sharper points? What kind of teeth do pixies have?

“None round here, “Maggie said. Richard snorted a laugh, and John beamed. The camera clicked as the extreme pain pulled the girl suddenly from her distant dreams.

They watched for a while as the two captives writhed and struggled in the heavy steel, watched and enjoyed it as they tired, eventually coming together in a panting sweaty mess.

“They were girlfriend and boyfriend,” Maggie informed them when the struggling ceased to just a soft moaning, desperation and beautiful terror.

“That’s wonderful, and she’s a total bonus. We do need a house slave, and a cute little bunny like her will fit the bill perfectly.

“Well you my handsome little friend, are number four, “John said, turning his attention to the youth. He received a glare of such hate that it decided him on the eye question immediately.

Richard grabbed the girl by her ankle chain and dragged her to his vehicle, its engine still idling, panting greasy smoke into the chill morning air. He looped the chain around a hook on the rack at the back. He was soon driving away, and the hapless girl was pulled across the rough gravel, leaving a trail of bloody marks where sharp stones scraped her soft skin and distorted screams renting the air; and then onto the grass and off around the side of the large house.

John clipped a nipple chain to the boy and used it to guide him onto his knees, in which fashion, with Maggie helping with sharp kicks, they led the poor, grunting slave to the newly completed, but oddly roofless outhouse outside the main kitchen.

Inside, there was a measure of darkness, due to the high walls, and it was cooler than outside. It was bare save for a dark metal cage with inch thick bars in one corner, opposite the back door. The slave panted, drool slivering down his chest from the dark interior of the tube gag as bright snakes from a cage, and his darting eyes finally settled on the steel prison.

“Here, you are going to live,” John said, pulling the slave forward to the corner of the steel bars. The cage was about five foot by three, with its rear two sides bolted to the brickwork of the outhouse wall and that of the kitchen. It was sitting on bare soil, but chained to brackets mounted in the brickwork. The poor captive still struggled with the unyielding chains pinioning his muscular arms behind his back, but of course this had no effect save maybe for convincing Maggie to gun her camera with more venom.

The cage was constructed of narrow steel, and allowed a good view of the boy within, his soft pinkness so vulnerable against the cold masonry behind. John carefully secured the chains to the boy's new piercings, making him a resident of this tight little box. The boy was grunting pitifully; spit dribbling from his distended mouth, unable to move more than a few inches due to the permanent bondage. He was crying. John smiled, stood as the sound of the vehicle returned from the back of the large house.

The quad was pulling a small trailer which was loaded with a mound of soil and gardening implements. As it pulled to a stop, they could both see the Elfgirl's head hanging out of the back, the only part of her unburied by the small mountain of soil on her. She was motionless and silent. Richard climbed off the vehicle, it's springs creaking, and walked to see the boy in the cage.

"You've got two decisions to make," he said to John while gesturing with his arm to the camera and beaming a smile at it. The boy wasn't moving, only the dribble of spit and the hiss of his breathing confirming he was still of this world.

John simply waited. Maggie filmed them with the cage in the background.

"Does he keep his bits? And, who does the gardening?"

John opened his jacket and showed them the sheath strapped under his arm. He brandished the long weapon with a flourish for the camera. It was a machete, but with a thinner bowed blade and a pointed tip. "I've been reading some amateur surgery online, so no, no bits. As for gardening, not me."

They paused for breakfast, unused to such early starts.

The elf was moaning when they returned, still just a head in the drying mud on the trailer, but the boy was silent. John had donned a white surgeon's gown and cap, and was holding the evil sharp blade with an obvious excitement, in front of him and high as he went to the cage. His erection made a sharp tent in the front of the gown, giving him a ludicrous look that he liked, perversely.

"I want her to blind him, Rich. Make it happen."

Richard gunned the engine of the quad and then used the power to tip the small trailer. The soil and dirty naked girl crashed to the ground. She was covered with a glaze of mud and blood when they dragged her out of the mess, a constant stream of drool from her mouth tube sliding between her breasts and adding to the disgusting state she was in. Her hair was caked to her head by mud, and she seemed almost a part of it as she struggled in the massive steel chains.

Maggie was setting the camera on a tripod so she could join the fun when John finally succumbed to his truest desires. The bars of the cage were very widely-spaced, more ornamental than being required to keep the slave trapped and so it was easy for John to slide even the massive blade through. Maggie focused the view on him as he started to poke the boy's pale ribs with vicious tip. Maggie tutted to herself, and quickly moved the camera further back so that she could film Richard too, as he used a large hedging scissors to shear away the girl's matted hair.

The boy was grunting and squeaking in pain and terror as John scratched his body with the tip of the knife. He prodded, the sharp tip easily drawing blood and a grunt of agony and terror from the boy. John continued to poke the sharp blade in an out, jabbing it and making small cuts in the boy's skin which oozed their issue, painting the white skin with a striping of crimson. The boys was panting and grunting, pulling roughly at the chains that attached him in this position. His eyes were darting in fear and confusion, and their was the ever-present line of drool.

Richard pulled the girl closer, and dropped her at the bars of the cage. John continued to stab her boyfriend, somewhat gently, if such a thing can be imagined. Now, Richard reached in and grabbed the boy's head by the tight chain of his gag. he pulled the boy's head up, prodding the girl with his foot. With his free hand her tossed a small penknife to the mud at the girl's feet. John blinked in surprise, backed away with a delicious grin of pleasure on his face. The girl, drool and tears dripping from her horrid, muddy face, looked up at Richard, across at her caged and whimpering boyfriend, then down at the knife. She was obviously terrified, too terrified to move.

"We're going to torture you. We're going to almost certainly kill you in the end. We don't do mercy, don't do sympathy or compassion or any of that shit, don't believe in the concept of sin. Your short, horrific lives will be unimaginably painful, degrading and frightening, " he said. Maggie and John both laughed. The girl sobbed, staring down at the knife, or maybe just down. John walked to stand over the girl, the large blade at his side, but his prick still awake.

"There is, however, a way out. We're going to blind your boyfriend, apparently; and if you do it for us, as we like to watch, you can walk away with him right now. Free. The film of you committing this act will be of far greater value to us than you two." Maggie laughed uproariously, and John stepped back to gape at Richard.

"Do you understand, girl? Do you understand our offer to you?"

She nodded. They were all stunned by the clarity of this response, which was strong despite the tremors of fear. John grinned again.

"So what so you say?" The boy was limp in Richard's strong grip, the chains to his soft parts taut with the way he was lifted to the top of the small cage.

The girl broke down again. Richard was patient, looking at her with some kind queer facsimile of care on his face.

"Well?" he asked finally.

She nodded, as if she had mustered some strength, quite incredible considering the obvious pain she was in with the new piercings, the brutal gag. Everyone laughed. Richard stretched his leg and kicked the small knife closer to her.

She was frozen, and remained so. After a while, Richard said, "We're going to do it, anyway, honey. Come on. My friends won't wait all morning."

She actually managed to struggle with her wrist chains enough to pick up the knife before her terror and pain and panic caused her to freeze once more. Richard moved then, lightning fast, grabbing the end of the tube gag and pulling her bodily forward, yet still holding the boy's chain. He moved with lightning speed, and the stupefied, chained captive girl had no chance to resist as he clasped her hand now, squeezing her small fist around the knife.

She uttered a high-pitched groan of terror, and he waited for her to finish before he jabbed her hand in through the bars and brought the tip into the boy's clenched right eye. It was like a scream, and the breath of it made a cloud in the air. He writhed in the tight confines, and a small spurt of blood burst from the ruined eye. The girl was bucking too, trying desperately to pull the knife away, but Richard was far too powerful.

He repeated the action with ease, and then stepped back, the girl falling back to look with horror at her lover now hanging in Richard's grasp, two thick lines of blood painting twin rivers down his face and a constant shriek of agony and horror blowing out strangely from the cruel gag. She stared at the boy's face, the ruination of his sight, her eyes a mirror to everything her soul was going through, the horror of her experience. She bolted. Up and on her feet with sudden and surprising speed; she staggered in the ankle bonds, rattling as she half ran, half stumbled in a seemingly random direction, but away from this and them. The three torturers laughed.

It was a simple matter for Richard to follow her, intercepting her at the Quad and bending her over it. He pushed her down onto the cold metal of the fuel tank, her soft breasts crushed beneath her. With his free hand, Richard opened the small toy box at the front of the trailer, and pulled out a long silver device with a narrow ball at one end and a steel rectangular box at the other end connected by a couple of metres of thin silver coiled wire. He pulled the length of the device out of the box with a little difficulty, as she was struggling again and making a god-awful howling sound. He picked up the ball and held it under the dark tube of her gag until it was liberally coated with her drool, and shin Then he rammed it forcefully beneath the cheeks of her ass. She screamed louder, spittle dripping across the machine. He pushed, gripping the gag chain for purchase, and after a short struggle, the large steel anal ball popped into her ass, the long steel wire dangling around her feet.

With her hands chained in front, she was helpless to do anything to help herself except scream through the horrible gag, and buck and struggle in his grip. She was shocked to the core of herself, unable to comprehend the evil she was witnessing. The pain of her body and the guilt of her boyfriend's lost sight were twin spikes within her, and now the awful pain of the rape with the freezing steel ball had added a lead feeling to her gut, and the tendrils of desperation, doom and utter defeat were blackening her vision.

He released her, and she immediately struggled to her feet again, the chain between her ankles tight as she resumed her amusing escape stagger. John walked to pick up the steel box, smiling for Maggie's camera as he pushed a control on the device. The girl left the ground and then crashed to the hard gravel, her limbs cramped in awfully contorted positions, a thin shriek of agony pushing past tight vocal cords which stood out much like her eyeballs. The electrical shock lasted only a couple of seconds, but it has substantial effect on the girl. She dropped to her knees, the heavy bondage rattling about her, crawled prostrate to him and stayed still, shivering but silent.

"You understand?" He asked.

She simply nodded.

"Good girl.” He took the control box and clipped it with an attached clamp to the boy's cage; efficiently trapping her there, as there was no way she could pull the massive steel ball from inside herself. She looked forlorn and hopeless as he pulled her to her feet; she glanced down at her shivering, broken boyfriend with such horror that brought smile's to everyone's lips. Richard thrust the shovel into her chained hands.

"I can set this to shock you until the batteries run down, I'm not sure if it will kill you or not. You will, therefore, obey. I want you to move the dirt into the boy's cage. Try to bury him up to his neck."

She hesitated for a few moments, the shovel dangling hopelessly. But it was proof of the efficacy of the electrical threat, when she stumbled to the pile of mud and began to pick at it with the shovel.

"I'm hungry," said Maggie. Breakfast it was.

With full bellies, they returned to find the boy somewhat buried, his limbs covered at least and a small hill of dirt sloped through the wide bars. The girl was still working, the steel tail a cruel accessory between her legs. Maggie checked her camera, which had caught everything they'd missed and was still running.

Richard returned once more to his quad, taking a large tub earth worms from the trailer. He tipped the contents over the boy's back, and he grunted with horror and disgust, hardly able to struggle at all now thanks to the soil around his arms and legs, and the tight chains running to his still agonising piercings. The worms wriggled and roiled, most falling off the boy and onto the fresh earth around him. The girl deposited another shovel of the soil onto him. John watched her, delighted by the power of the control device. She had become a robot, basically.

It was a short matter to sprinkle a few seeds over the boy's home. Then, leaving the girl to finish her task, they left to prepare for her training.