SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter One -- Jan

They drove around the third of three old warehouse buildings near the docks, following the directions that they had printed out.  At the end of the third building an old truck blocked the alley between buildings.  Jan’s husband, Dave pulled the car to a stop and a spotlight blinded their vision.

       “Card, please!” a voice said over a loudspeaker. 

Dave flashed the card they had received with the directions.  About five seconds later a door opened on their right.

       “Drive on in, lights off” the voice said as Dave turned the car in and flipped the switch for the lights.  It was pitch black in the warehouse.  The next thing they heard, the passenger door was opening and they were blinded in the beams of two huge flashlights.

       “Out quick, no goodbyes,” a voice said, sounding like the one from the loudspeaker outside.  Jan’s seatbelt was unbuckled, and she was pulled from the car, then pushed through a heavy black curtain where she was grabbed by another pair of arms.

       “Back out, drive away, the way you came.  You will hear from us at the right time,” the voice said as Dave complied, wondering if he had done the right thing.  What if this turns out to be something really awful, he wondered.  As he backed the car around to return the way he came, a tall female figure in a black coat and boots, stepped near the car, motioning with her flashlight to lower the window.

       “After you leave the front gate, play this.  Listen carefully and follow instructions, and all will be well.  Now go.”  She tossed a CD onto his lap and stepped through a small side door he hadn’t seen before. 

Inside, Jan was shoved through another curtained doorway into a small room with a platform in the far corner, illuminated by the beam of a single spot light.  She two people behind her and started to turn and look at them when one of slapped her face and pulled her head down, doubling her over.  Jan saw two pairs of high-heeled boots beneath black leather skirts.

       “Eyes to the floor unless ordered otherwise, bitch,” one of them snapped.  “Now, strip then kneel on the platform, face to the wall.  You have ten seconds, starting NOW!”

Jan felt another hard yank to her hair, then grabbed for the thin T-shirt and pulled it off over her head.  She was dressed exactly as the instructions had demanded, in a thin T-shirt at least two sizes too small that would show her nipples, and tight cotton short shorts that would show her camel toe.  Nothing else, no underwear or shoes, had been allowed.  Jan pulled the shorts below her knees and stepped out of them as quickly as she could, almost tripping herself as she lunged for the platform and scrambled onto it, kneeling and pushing her face into the corner where the two walls met.  She had spent enough “corner time” at Dave’s direction to hope that this was the expected behavior.

“Good cunt,” the other voice said.  “One second to spare.” Jan felt the woman’s warm breath on her neck.

“Thank you, Mistress,” Jan said in earnest. She immediately felt her head pulled back by the violent grasp of the woman’s hand followed by her right nipple gripped and twisted, then pulled out and twisted some more.

“Only speak when commanded to do so, you vile untrained scum,” the woman said, continuing to grind and twist the nipple.  “You will learn to thank us properly and only when commanded, and only after learning our disciplines.  Until then, such a low form of life does not and cannot speak, not even to acknowledge or thank a Mistress.

Jan heard the other woman approach and grab her left nipple, pinching hard.

“When you are finally allowed the gift of speech, it will first be used to count and beg for the number of strokes we have assigned.  But that won’t be for at least a day or two, or maybe even three.  If you follow orders well enough to be allowed to lick my dog’s turds, you may be allowed to speak, to thank your trainers for their attention to your useless body, and ask for a few more strokes.”  The woman punctuated her last words with even more vicious twists of Jan’s nipple, then stepped back.  Jan felt the other woman relax her grip and stand over her.

“Transport to the training camp will be in about two or three hours, as soon as our other subjects have arrived.  In the meantime, we will entertain ourselves with some tests of your discipline and obedience levels,” the one with the more authoritative voice said, almost purring with anticipation.  “Stand up, turn around, and present yourself at attention, hands behind your head.”  The command was immediately followed by a swat from a riding crop as Jan rose to comply.

Meanwhile, Dave had driven away fro the darkened warehouses on the docks and was approaching the freeway on-ramp.  He slipped the disc into the CD player and above various moans and screams in the background he heard a low rasping female voice.

“Hello Dave, this is Mistress Evelyn of the Submissive Wives Academy of Training, or SWAT as we like to call it.  You have entered your wife Jan for our introductory training and grading program and you have both consented to this.  We have reviewed the applications and the video interviews you both did and know of yours and Jan’s interest and experience in BDSM activities and lifestyles.

“Jan will be our guest for 15 to 20 days, during which time you will have no contact with her or with our organization.  You will receive updates on her progress as we see fit to send them, at least at 7 and 14 days into the program.  On the 14th day, you will receive instructions for the remainder of this phase of program and when she will complete it.  This disc will erase itself as it plays.  You will hear from us by the 7th day from now.  Have a pleasant and safe journey home.”  The disc stopped and automatically ejected from the player.

Jan stood at attention, trying not to shiver in the chilled temperature of the room where she stood on the platform.  She felt her nipples harden even more than they had, even after the abuse they had just taken.

“Look at me,” the first woman said as she approached.  She slipped the black coat off her shoulders, revealing a large body with big breasts in a low-cut leotard, black gloves with studded wrist strap closures and a black skirt that fell below the knee over gleaming boots with 4” heels.  Her dark hair surrounded a beautiful leather mask painted in gold to look like a cat’s face.  Jan shivered in fear as the woman slapped the crop across her own palm and paced back and forth.

“Who I am is of no importance,” she continued, tapping Jan’s thigh with the crop, “since anyone and every thing is superior to what I see here.” She flicked the crop against Jan’s right tit, then drew it along under her chin as she spoke.  “In fact, even single-celled scum floating on stagnant pond water is superior to this thing here, isn’t it Sister?”  She flashed a toothy grin as she turned to her partner in the shadows at the back corner of the room.

“Oh yes, Sister,” the other one replied as she came forward.  She wore a tunic type sweater over tight black jeans and sandals.  She was very tall and quite thin with long fingers and toes, nails painted black.  Her face was covered by a feathered mask in black and grey, with a lacquered leather beak over her nose.  She unclipped a thin leather paddle from her belt. 

“This nameless thing here should wish to be honored with being mentioned in the same sentence as pond scum,” she laughed as she stepped up onto the platform with Jan.  She tapped the slapper against Jan’s lips and said “Open up and hold this for me while I get ready for some fun.” 

Jan took the leather slapper in her mouth as the thin woman unbuttoned her tunic and slipped out of it, hanging it on a hook alongside other straps, whips, paddles and implements on the wall.  She was now naked from the waist up, with small breasts and tight protruding nipples that reminded Jan of big pencil erasers.  She reached out and yanked the paddle from Jan’s mouth then swung it hard against her left hipbone. Jan let out a gasp, but managed not to make much noise.

“Not bad,” said the big woman.  “But how about this?” The crop shot out, catching Jan’s left nipple with a sharp upswing.  Jang gritted her teeth and groaned, stifling the urge to scream.

“Hmm, looks like it’s had some training,” the thin one said, tapping down along Jan’s belly until she arrived at the lush growth of pussy hair, where she swung hard once again, causing Jan to suck in her breath even harder this time.

“Looks like it really wants to be trained,” her partner said, lifting the right tit up by the nipple, and then slashing the tender underside with three quick strokes.  Jan moaned, and couldn’t avoid twisting away to avoid the pain.  “Uh-oh, breaking position means punishment, stupid thing,” the large woman went on, yanking her back around and slashing down across Jan’s groin with the crop.

Jan summoned all control and resumed the position, flinching at the strokes landing across her hipbones and the flesh of her pussy mound.  She could feel sweat beads forming on her back and legs despite the chill in the room.  She caught her breath as the intensity of the strokes lightened, then they stopped.  The thin one stepped toward Jan, bringing the edge of her paddle hard up into Jan’s crack, sawing it back and forth, almost lifting Jan off her feet as she hissed.

“Bad behavior, bad thing.  Punishment for you.”  She stepped back and Jan saw her smile for he first time.  It was not a pleasant smile.  “But first we will check out some important info, won’t we, Sister?

“Oh yes, we shall, sister dear,” replied the partner.  “Indeed we shall.”  She turned to a shelf on a sidewall, taking a leather folder and opening it.  “First, we check the vital data that was submitted. Let’s see, auburn hair, obviously colored, not a bad job of it, green eyes, tits with a nice drop to them, not bad for 35 years old.  Over there, step on the scale.”  Jan complied, practically jumping towards a scale in the opposite corner.

“One hundred thirty two pounds,” the thin woman read from the dial. 

“Hmm, she said one twenty seven on her application,” the large one said.  “That means a five stroke penalty, one for each pound,” she clucked her tongue.  “Shame shame, you will pay for that.  Put the tape to her, and let’s see if she lied to us there, too.”

The smaller woman took out a cloth tape and put it around Jan’s breasts.  “Thirty seven” she said, giving each nipple a good pinch before she pulled the tape away.

“Well, that’s what is says here, too.  So are they a full C-cup, do you think?”

“Seems to be so,” replied the woman, hefting Jan’s tits in her hands and bobbling them up and down, then slapping them hard. “Nice pink nipples, erect easily.  Aureoles almost two inches.”   She moved the tape down Jan’s torso. “What does the waist read, I wonder?  Hmm, the tape says a twenty-six inch waist.”

The woman moved the tape on down around Jan’s hips, pulling at her hairy bush as she brought the tape together.  “Thirty-eight on the hips,” she said.

“Well, waist and tits are accurate, hips say thirty nine.  Hmm, what shall we do there, Sister?”  the large one asked, looking down at the folder.

“You know, since we value nice round asses, it’s as bad to under report ass size as it is to exaggerate tit size.  I think that will be another five stroke penalty, don’t’ you?” her partner answered, yanking at Jan’s hairy cunt.  “And is the cunt hair supposed to be this messy jungle?”

“Hmm, yes, it is.  Four weeks minimum of no trimming or shaving, same for the pits and asshole,”  the large woman walked over to Jan, grabbing her hair and bending her over.  “Is that filthy ass look like a month of no trimming?”

The thin one glanced down at Jan’s ass, then picked up a flogger from a nearby table.  “Some hairy stuff there, sister, oh yes!” she laughed as she swung the flogger against Jan’s butt crack.  “Nice and hairy,” as she wailed away.

The large woman jerked Jan’s head back up so she was once more at attention.  “Let’s look at those pits, eh?” she said, pulling a small pair of needle-nose jeweler’s pliers from her belt.  Jan felt the jaws of the pliers open and then pull on the hair in her left armpit.  It had grown to almost a half-inch in length in the month or so since they had filed the application.  Jan winced as the woman plucked hard, removing the hair in the pliers’ grip, and then moved to the right side for more of the same.   “Oooh, that is fun, isn’t it?” she grinned at Jan, hoping to get an answer.  Jan swallowed hard and remained silent.

“Shall we apply some penalty strokes to this cunt crack, do you think?” the thin one asked, reaching up and slapping Jan hard as she spoke.

“Why not,” her partner replied, “and then we will still have time for some pussy eating and ass-licking before she gets to ride the transport pony to training camp.  Bend her over, and let’s get started, shall we?”  The flogger fell across Jan’s hips and thighs even as she was being bent into position.

Two hours later, Jan sat in the transport van, not able to see through the thick blindfold over her eyes.  She was strapped onto a rough bench-like device, with a wooden wedge shape on the bench pushing up into her pussy.  Her wrists were cuffed in heavy leather with rings in each one hooked to other rings in a wide leather collar around her neck, keeping her hands locked under each ear.  She felt each foot being placed on a sloping board then strapped in so that her legs were held wide open and displaying her cunt.  She knew there were others in the van, but she had no idea how many.  As she waited for it to move, she thought about the past few hours.

She and Dave had experimented with various Dominance and submission activities, and she discovered that she liked it a lot more than she had originally thought she might.  Then one night Dave came home with a web link to the SWAT web site, outlining the available slave training programs.  They looked through the information on the website and answered the long qualifying questionnaire about their activities and involvement, along with a series of pictures of Jan in various poses.  A few days later, Dave received an email about scheduling an interview by phone, which they eagerly set up.  A week after the interview, which had been nearly an hour long, they received an envelope which contained Jan’s acceptance into the SWAT training program, along with the fee schedule, a contract form, and instructions on how to prepare for entering the program, among them the explicit directions on not shaving pubes or pits for at least four weeks.  Dave had also been instructed not to spank or swat her for at least two weeks before training, so that her skin would be unmarked and ready for training.

They were given a date and time to appear for transport to training and told to wait for instructions on delivering Jan.  The instructions arrived via email just an hour before she was to appear at the warehouse area, at 9:30 pm that night, well after dark.  And that’s how Jan had ended up here.  She thought back to the long application, the involved questions in the interview, and then to the treatment she had just received that evening.  After the weighing and measuring, Jan’s two tormentors had each taken a leather flogger and they took turns beating her from neck to knees, front and back.  When it seemed every inch of  her skin was glowing pink and warm, they had pushed her down onto her knees and elbows, with instructions to put her forehead to the floor and push her ass up with legs spread wide.

Jan had spent enough time in this position in her games with Dave to know what was most likely coming next, but she wasn’t prepared for the ferocity and intensity of the swats she got from this pair.   They had given her fifteen penalty swats for the weight and ass dimension errors, then each took another six swats to each ass cheek for having altered position.  They had finished with another six to her asshole with the leather slapper, followed by ten with a wooden spoon to her spread cunt crack for speaking without permission.  Jan heard more movement in the van, then the door closed.  She felt he van moving slowly, its rough suspension system going over the potholes in the warehouse district and the consequent bumpy ride shoving the wedge block mounted on the bench into her already burning pussy and ass crack.  As the van picked up speed, she heard a voice come from loudspeakers somewhere above.

“Welcome to the transport to SWAT’s training camp.  We don’t welcome you as ladies, or women, or girls, or even as slaves, not even as shit.  You are nothing, actually less than nothing.  Not slaves, certainly, since a trained slave is a highly-prized possession, and you are not that.  Not even shit, since compared to the lot of you, a stinky dog turd is a precious stone.  By the way, there eight of you in this lot, not that it matters to you, since one, two four or even eight of you are still less than nothing until you start to learn.  We gather from your silence that you have each learned that speech is not allowed at this stage.  The only things allowed are total obedience and complete humility. You do not possess a single thing except your desire to obey.  You have no name, no number, no nothing.  You will obey and worship anything and everything you encounter.

“You will eat, drink, piss and shit on command, and only on our commands. When any of you commits an infraction or violation of any rule, you will all be punished for it.  It will be approximately ninety minutes to our training camp, and we are sure that your asses are quite warm from the greeting punishments you received so we will give you some air.” 

Jan felt the cool night air from outside rushing up under her crotch as panels in the floor of the van opened up she heard gasps and squeaks from others that she assumed were locked into their tortuous seats just as she was.  She heard the voice as the volume was raised over the sound of the cold air rushing into the van.

“Oh, that’s so nice, don’t you agree?” the voice chuckled, “but then, of course you agree.  Of course you do.  You are here after a process of application and review, an interview and more review, and your willful agreement to a contract.  If you are only now having regrets, it is simply too late, though we almost never have real regrets with our trainees, since we know how to screen them to begin with. 

“As we travel, I will remind you of the particulars of our training program.  You will each be with us for 10 to 15 days, depending upon individual progress and our whims.  There are several grades of our training program, each requiring a standard of training, obedience and discipline to achieve.  There is the lowest, or shit grade, where you are known as slave turds.  Next is cunt grade, where you will be known as a slavecunt with a number.  Next is slut grade, where you will be known as slutslave, with a number, or perhaps even a name of some sort, maybe a name something like doggiecum or pigshit.  Next is slave grade, where you will be allowed to earn a slave name.  Above slave grade, we have our Sisters, who direct the training for our Supreme Mistress Evelyn, who rules all of us.  Even the Sisters must submit to a minimum of three days of slavish training at least twice a year.  Only Our Supreme Mistress never submits.

“Of course, there is one grade below shit grade… that is what you are.  There is no name for it, since there is not way to describe things of such low value as the eight of you.  Your first, largest and greatest  and ONLY desire is to obey well enough to be thought worthy of being called ‘shit’ and ‘slave turd.’  We expect the eight of you to obey every command well enough to move on to shit grade by your second day here.  Then, and not until then, will you be allowed any speech.  When we do allow speech, it will be limited to such phrases as ‘this slave turd thanks the Mistress,’ which will be spoken enthusiastically each time  a training Mistress strikes, swats, pinches, pisses spits or performs any sort of training attention toward you.

“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?  There are two longs days of obedience training and testing before you get to shit grade, where you will learn the joys of worshipping shit in all its glory, among other tasks.  When we arrive, you will be unloaded then unbound.  You will stand at attention in Position One.  When the blindfold is removed, you will drop to all fours and begin crawling as your new Training Mistresses direct you.  We are leaving the highway soon and the comfortable part of the ride will then be over,” the voice almost giggled at that.  “Since there has been nice rain storm this evening, the road should provide an especially refreshing completion to the journey.” 

Jan felt the van slow, then turn onto a curving ramp, and then a few moments later, how long she couldn’t tell, it slowed some more as it slowly cruised over what felt like speed bumps as the wooden wedge pounded and jammed itself into her sore pussy.  Then she heard the tires going through what sounded like water as she felt  the icy shower of cold rainwater kicked up through the grates in the van’s floor.  Just as she caught her breath from one frigid blast up her ass, the van would bang over another bump and she would feel the pain of the wedge block followed by the chill of another puddle splashing up.  She could hear rustling from the others in the van as they felt the saem discomfort.

Finally the van slowed even more and stopped as Jan heard voices outside.  We must going through some sort of entrance, she thought from sounds of gates squeaking and official sounding conversations outside.  The van lurched forward, going sown what seemed a steep slope, the coming to a stop.  Jan heard the engine shut down and the doors on the van opened. 

“Everybody out, come one move!” a voice yelled, followed by laughter.  Of course every one of the women in the van was so tightly secured that no one could move at all, but that seemed to add to the comedy.  “Hmm, are you disobeying already?” came the cackling voice again.  “well, let’s give you a proper welcome, then!” 

Jan felt the blast from what felt like a fire hose across her body and heard the gasps from the others still tied in the van, followed by sounds of clips and straps being released.  Jan felt the leg restraints being released, then being pulled off the wedge block, her cunt and ass burning in pain.  She felt cool night air and heard crickets chirping somewhere nearby.  The collar was unbuckled, and she wrist cuffs released.  She quickly clasped her hands up behind her head as she stood at attention in Position One.  Under the very edge of the blindfold, she thought she could see bright floodlights illuminating the area.

The blindfold was jerked off her head and for a second she was blinded by the dazzling harshness of the floodlights as she was pushed down and felt a boot across her sore ass.

“Move! Move! Move!” she heard as she felt the shock from a cattle prod and felt more than one rod falling across her body.  She crawled quicky, and now could see three bodies in line ahead of her, all crawling as fast as they could, goaded and guided by a virtual gantlet of swinging rods, straps and birch branches.  She caught a glimpse of the larger Woman who had done her “reception” work on arriving at the warehouse, ready to swing her crop as Jan passed.  “Faster, faster!” someone yelled as Jan heard whooshes of the air followed by various sounds as implements fell on crawling bodies.

Jan smelled a stench at the same time as she saw the trench in front of her and saw the jiggling ass cheeks of the woman in front her almost submerged in the trench of mud and shit mixed with enough liquid to be the texture of a stinking soup or stew.  She felt a vicious whack from a rod or cane across the backs of her thighs as she crawled up to and into the shit trench.  She moved through it as fast as she could, wanting only to get to the other side.

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Two – First Day

Jan crawled as fast as she could move, squinting against the shit flying up around her face from the woman in front of her.  The shit and mud mixture was deep enough to submerge her up to hr shoulders as she moved through it.  The smell was overpowering and it was all she could do not to gag and just keep moving.  She felt the mud bottom of the trench ramp up a slight incline, as she knew she was coming to the end of the trench.  Another hard stroke from a cane landed across her tailbone as she felt the depth lessen and her tits swung free of the stinking slurry, then only her hands and knees were still in it.   She felt a hand grab her under each armpit and draw her up onto her feet.  She tried to stand and slipped on the slime under her feet.

       The hands propelled her forward and she stumbled, her head down, managing to keep her balance.   Looking down, he saw two pairs of feet in rubber boots as she gasped for breath.  She felt a boot kick into her side as she fell, then rolled down a sandy bank. The grit scraped her sore skin and caked onto the scum of shit and mud that covered her from the neck down.  She saw the three women who had crawled the trench before her. One was getting to her feet under the repeated blows of a rod swung by a short chunky Trainer and the other two were already standing at attention in Position One.  Jan rolled to a stop and scrambled to her feet, hurrying over to line up with the others and take up what seemed to be the required posture.  As she clasped her hands behind her head she felt thick clumps of shit in the strands of her hair.  The Trainer stepped over to where Jan stood, hands locked and elbows back to more fully present her tits.  The trainer took Jan’s elbows and brought them together in front of her face, yanking and pulling them so that the shit caked on her forearms was rubbed onto her face.

       The woman sneered and almost giggled as she grabbed Jan’s right wrist, pushed the palm so it was spread flat and then slowly drew it down over Jan’s face, smearing it with the residue from the trench.  She let go of the wrist and quickly swung the rod up under Jan’s tits, catching them both just under the nipples.  By then two more women had rolled down the sand bank.  One of them, a blonde with big tits and a huge ass and thighs, just lay there gasping for air.         The other one was an average looking redhead with short hair.  The red welts and marks stood out on the pale white of her skin, even through the coating of shit and sand that covered most of her.  She struggled to her feet quickly and rushed to Jan’s left, assuming the position.  The Trainer had her cattle prod out and was jamming it into the fat blonde’s crotch and belly.

       “Get up you pile of blubber!” the Trainer hissed, swinging her birch rod back forth across the thighs of the big blonde.  “Up, now and in Position One.” Another woman came down the bank, though it seemed she had been thrown down from the top rather than rolling as she skidded to a stop on her belly and rolled over, her face half-covered with sand.  She was a tall slim brunette with hair down her back as she coughed, then rose to her hands and knees. The Trainer swung a backhand stroke onto the brunette’s ass as she whirled back to connect another swat onto the blonde’s ample rump, then repeated the backhand move again as the brunette rushed to join the line.  The big blonde crawled towards the line and pushed herself up onto her feet, still steadying with her hands as she scuttled away from the stinging rod.

       By then the last of the eight had rolled down the bank.  She was a short woman who looked older than the rest, with very short platinum white hair and small tits.  The huge nipples and areolas made them look like targets on her nearly flat chest.  The woman got up but fell back in the sand, brushing against the calves of the Trainer’s legs just as the Trainer had jerked the big blonde into the attention posture in the line.  The Trainer turned and swung her rod in one swift move, catching the woman across the hip and thigh, then following with a flurry of crisscross strokes as the woman crawled and scrambled to the end of the line.

       Jan tried to get a better glimpse of the three women who had preceded her into the line.  The one just her left seemed average height and build except that she seemed to have one of those enormous butts that was way out of proportion to the rest of her.  She couldn’t really see the other two and she didn’t chance turning her head to check them out.  Never mind, she thought, we’re all in this together anyway.  She looked up at the top the sandy bank and saw the two women in rubber boots and gloves coming down to the line of eight subjects.

       “Welcome to the sandbox,” the first one said, as she stood before them.  She wore a rubber apron that she started to remove as she spoke.  “I just love to play here, and you will too, trust me,” she said, pulling off the rubber gloves that went nearly to her elbows.  “You are here to show your obedience, but then you’ve heard that, haven’t you?  But since you all are so stupid and not even in possession of a brain we will have to repeat it many times while you are here.”  She walked along the line, slowly rubbing the shit-covered gloves across noses and foreheads of the eight subjects standing at rigid attention. 

       “First, we will practice the Positions of Presentation.  I now how stupid and ignorant you all are, but you were instructed to learn and practice these in the weeks of your applications and screening.  We will see, won’t we?”  She turned and paced back along the line.  “Position One seems to be in order.  And peaking of order, for our first time through we will command them in order.  Later, we will command them in any order we like, and every one of you better get them right or you will all be punished.  That’s how it is at the beginning here, any one of you fucks up on something, you all feel the punishment.  But then, you aren’t allowed to think about who fucked up in the first place, you are only allowed to obey,” she continued.  “Now, Position Two, present those tits.

       Every one of the eight instantly changed position, spreading the feet to shoulder width, toes pointed out, knees bent almost at a right angle.  Hands were under tits, lifting and presenting them.  “Not bad, not great.  But we will work on it” the woman said, still pacing back and forth but now tapping on each subject with the tip of a riding crop as she passed.  “When Position Two is called, along with ‘Present Tits,’ this is the expected posture.  If we should call for Position Two with ‘Display Tits,’ then tits are held up by pinching the nipples to show those tender undersides.  We may even call for ‘Display Cunt’ in this Position, which will require pulling the labia wide open for inspection or punishment.  Now, let me see Position Three what we call the hangers.”

       The line of women quickly moved, keeping the feet spread by locking the legs straight and bending at the waist, spine parallel to the ground, pointing the tits to hang straight down with hands clasped in the small of the back.  “Keep those legs locked and that back nice and even so those tits hang just like I like them,” said, giving a couple of corrective swats as she reviewed the line.  “If you hear ‘Display Ass’ along with a command for ‘Three,’ the hands will spread the cheeks nice and wide.  Let’s see that NOW!” she snapped. “Position Three, Display Ass.”  Eight pairs of hands quickly grabbed ass cheeks and pulled them wide apart.  The Trainer walked around the line and behind the women, rubbing or tapping, occasionally swatting her crop lightly across hips or thighs.  Jan felt the crop rub along her crack, then a vicious stroke came down right on her tender asshole. Jan’s knees wanted to buckle, but she held position.

       “Next, let me see position Four, the Quad, “ the Trainer ordered.  As its name implied it was a four-point stance, with legs remaining locked straight and spread, hands on the ground at the same width as feet, arms locked straight, eyes looking down.  Jan’s hair fell over her face and she could feel and smell the shit clumped in it.  “We’ll hold this one for a while, just to let all those obedient knees and thighs get good and tight,” the Trainer laughed as she stepped over to where the other two Trainers stood.  “Why don’t we have Sister Cane here take you through the next postures.”

       “Why thank you, Sister Crop,” her companion said as she walked to the line of subjects all in the quad stance, removing her gloves and pulling a rattan cane from her belt.  The one called Sister Cane was medium height and a chunky build, with heavy thighs, a thick neck and double shin.  She wore her dark auburn hair pulled back with a purple scarf.  Her boots made a squishy sound as she wandered around the line and took up a position behind the eight.  The telltale swish of air as the cane swung was followed by a few different strokes landing on various hips and thighs, first at one end of the line, then in another part of it. 

Jan felt the air move as the cane swung, purposely missing a square shot across her ass cheeks.  Sister Cane gave out a series of gratified sighs as she sliced and slashed down on butt cheeks that were by now almost in spasms from the strain of holding the position.  “Hold that position, all of you,” she chided, “or you’ll be verrry, veerrrry sorry,” she chimed out in a singsong voice.  “Now, when I command, you will be moving on to Position Five, or what it like to call the Star, from its five points of contact.  The five are knees, elbows and forehead, with the ass as the highest point of the body.  Position Five, NOW!” She came down across the shoulders of the big blonde woman to Jan’s right with her cane as all eight dropped to their knees with heads down between forearms and asses pointing up.

       Jan knew this pose, having spent a lot of time in it with the games she and Dave had played at home, but she somehow felt the swats and spanks would not be as playful as Dave’s had been.  A boot pushed down on her neck, shoving her forehead further into the rough texture of the sand.  Jan glanced to the side and saw the other Trainer shove a boot under the nose of the woman to her left, then push her head down onto the boot with her cane.  “Worship that boot,” the Trainer snarled, “worship it good,” as she worked the cane, rubbing the woman’s nose onto the top of her shit-spattered boot.

       Sister Cane seemed to be coming down the line and placing cross-hatched X’s on rumps as she did, and Jan felt the sharp sting of one stroke then another.  She held herself, trying not to flinch, seeing the boots of Sister Crop walking in front of her and feeling the whoosh of the crop as it landed on her back.  God, how many of these will they land on me, she thought, knowing that at this point it didn’t really matter.

       “Time for number Six, the Open Flower!” Sister Cane announced.  “Do it, now!”

Each subject squatted up, then lay down on her back, with knees up and spread wide, head slightly back, eyes closed, and arms extended beside the head.  The grains of sand digging into the sores and welts of her back and ass were almost unbearable for Jan as she took up the posture, trying to keep her throbbing calves and thighs held tight and in position.

       “Sometimes we like to vary this one with a command to ‘Display cunt,’” Sister Crop said.  “In that case, the hands will be behind knees, holding them wider apart, for an even better cunt display, especially when some extra attention is in order.”  Jan could feel the toe of a boot working into her slit as the Trainer continued.  “And when we want some extra fun, we can do some cunt pickling, can’t we Sister?”

       “Oh, absolutely,” Sister Cane replied with a mocking enthusiasm.  “We love cunt pickles.  I have some right here.”  She walked to the side and came back with a large glass jar of a greenish liquid with red and green pieces floating in it.  She picked up a large brush and stirred the jar’s contents, swirling them around.  “This flavor is my favorite, with jalapeño and habanera peppers in extra strong vinegar.”  Jan could smell the potent fumes from the jar as the Sister walked by their heads ad waved the jar about.

“Get ready for a taste of this!”  She took the brush and began wiping a generous portion of the pepper and vinegar mixture on each cunt and ass crack, scrubbing hard with the coarse bristles of the brush and smearing the mixture across the welts that marked each subject’s upper thighs.  Jan wasn’t ready for the painful burn that assaulted her most tender flesh as the combination of acids hit her crack and dribbled into her vagina.  There was more than one moan but amazingly, no one screamed.  Jan gritted her teeth and felt tears forming in her eyes that strained to stay shut.

       “Hmmm, nice appetizers, those cunt pickles,” Sister Crop laughed,  “ and soon we will have a lovely entrée before bedtime.  But right now, it’s time for Position Seven, the dreaded Diaper.  Do it now!”  Each woman knew the routine, and each generally disliked the Diaper position more than any other.  But they each remained on their back; legs only slightly bent, feet raised over the head with arms on floor, palms flat.  Jan held position, remembering the times Dave had put her in this for enemas or paddling and wondering if a more humiliating posture could be envisioned.  “Oh, Sister Cane, I can tell that some of them really don’t’ enjoy this one, but isn’t that too bad?”

       “Yes it is, Sister Crop, since they don’t have any choice, any opinion or any thought about it, not that they could think, anyway,” she replied, dribbling more of the vinegar on the line of cunts as she walked up and down.  “But since they are all here to obey and do nothing but obey, they will all continue to hold this posture for as long as we like, won’t they?”  Jan held position, and could feel the truth of the Trainer’s words.  She really wanted to obey.

       It seemed a long time that they were held there, but Jan’s sense of time was getting fussy by now.  Let’s see, she thought, we left before midnight, a ninety-minute ride here, and how long have we been doing this?  She looked up at the bright floodlights and she realized that it didn’t matter at all.  The only thing that mattered was obedience.

“Moving on now,” Sister Crop continued, let’s have Position Eight, the Dog, and let’s see it now!”  The subjects moved to hands and knees, with feet pulled up high, head down and eyes closed, like a poorly trained puppy about to be swatted with a rolled up newspaper.

“Let’s finish up our Posture review so we can get on to the next bit of fun, shall we Sister Cane?” 

“Why not?” Sister Cane replied.  “OK, almost back to the beginning with these last two.  Position Nine, kneel and Present!”  They all sat back on their heels, mimicking Position Two, only kneeling with thighs spread and hands presenting tits.

“And Position Ten, kneel at Attention!” replied Sister Crop.  It was similar to Position One, only on knees, with thighs spread wide and hips thrust forward, hands clasped behind the head.

As they held that form of attention, Sister Cane passed front of them, dipping corncobs in her jar of cunt pickles, and dropping one in front of each subject in the line.

Jan looked down and saw it, a dried corncob at least six or seven inches long, with a red string tied around it about an inch from the thick end.  Sister Cane had tossed it down then kicked it in the sand so that it was not only dipped in the burning brine, it had a gritty coat of sand on it.

“All right, here are the butt plugs for tonight,” Sister Crop smiled, “and be sure that it goes in far enough to hide the red line.  Now everybody pick it up, stand and bend knees.”  They all obeyed, struggling to their feet on cramped legs.  “Now plug those butt holes!” she ordered, “and make that red line disappear!”  Jan almost bit her tongue as she reached back and worked the plug into her ass.  The burn from before was even worse as it felt like her entire intestine was in flames, not mention the abrasion from the sand that stuck to it.   She worked it into place, fighting the burn that made her want to scream, and felt a sort length of the string that banded the butt plug hanging down a few inches from the end of it.

“Get them in there, up to the red string line, then give me Position Three and hang those tits,” Sister Crop commanded, stepping behind them to inspect each butt plug’s placement.  She heard a tinkling sound as Sister Cane came up behind her.  “Sister Cane is attaching a bell to each string’s end,” she said, “so that we can enjoy some music for a while.  Each bell has a different tone, so we can hear the harmonies you will give us.” 

Jan could feel the bell dangling on the string as she heard the next command

“Now swing those tits and shake those Asses and ring those bells!” Sister Crop shouted, “Keep ‘em moving, keep those bells ringing.”  The eight of them shook and moved, desperately trying to keep the noise coming from the bells as they wiggled asses and shook tits.  Jan’s moderately sized breasts were hurting from the swinging and shaking; she could only imagine what the ones with big tits felt like by now.  About the time one subject would slack up, a crop or cane would get her moving faster than before.

Just as she thought the pressure from the butt plug was unbearable, Sister Cane ordered them to halt, but remain in position.  “Time for a late night dinner.  Now, bring hands out, reach down and dig a bowl in the sand.”  She paused for a moment then continued. “Yes, I said a ‘bowl,’ not a hole.  Dig it out there, double handful size, now!”

She swung the cane through the air for effect, as she paced along the line.  “Every bowl all dug out nice and round?  Good.  Now Position Five, faces down in those bowls.”

“This is how you eat whatever we decide to feed you, and you will gobble it as fast as your stupid mouths will move, won’t you?”  Sister Crop said.  “Now, Sister Prod will be here with dinner in a few minutes, so in the meantime let’s work up some more appetite, eh?  So, up in Position Two, present those tits, and let me hear those bells chime.”  Everyone obeyed, and Jan could feel her thighs tighten as she stood with knees bent and swinging her hips to make the bell ring as the butt plug seemed to pound into her with each move she made.

“Now, while holding that position, you will run up the sand bank and continue to where you see the pole with a blinking red light.  You will run around it and then right back here where you will assume Position Four and wait for your dinners to be served. Move, now!” 

Jan struggled up the bank with her legs already shaking in spasms and for the first time got a look at the area.  It seemed to be about a hundred yards square with a chain link fence around it and a tall pole for the floodlights at each corner.  The sandbox was near one corner and the short pole with the red light looked to be almost in the opposite corner.  The entrance gate with the shit trench was over to her left.  The far corner ahead of her looked to have bars, benches and strange structures, but she put that out of her head as she moved along, practically in a duck walk with her knees bent deep to relieve some of the pressure.  The ground was packed and didn’t’ seem to bother her feet too much, but the pain from the butt plug got worse with each step.  Sister Cane and Sister Crop walked and jogged alongside the group with occasional strokes and verbal encouragement. 

Jan saw the post and circled around it, looking back at shat seemed a mile of ground to cover in that stressed posture, but she kept moving.  Just few yards past the pole, Sister Crop moved to her and the others, slashing her crop on thighs and asses to herd them off at an angle, making the trip back to the sandbox even further.  “Don’t just present those tits now,” she yelled, herding them along to a track covered with pebbles and gravel, “Display those tits!  Pinch ‘em up high and wide!”

Jan realized that she was almost at head of the line, and the tall brunette with the long hair was the only one ahead of her.  She pinched her nipples and pulled them up as she continued to duck walk along with the rocks of the gravel surface now bringing on even more discomfort.  “Higher on those tits!” Crop yelled, flicking her wrist and sending a shot to the soft underside of Jan’s left breast.  “Higher!” was followed by a matching shot to the right one as Jan squeezed on her nipples and ran on, trying to catch the leader. She was covered with sweat now, and as she looked down at her torso she saw the mixture of sand and shit in streaks down her belly.  She saw the top of the sand bank and hurried there, catching up with the leader as she reached the top.  Jan started down the bank as Sister Cane stuck out her implement, catching both of them below the knees and sending them skidding and rolling down with a fresh coating of sand on their bodies gleaming with sweat.

They both got up and crawled to the line of depressions dug in the sand and immediately took up the required Quad stance.  Wow, Jan thought, if my thighs and calves weren’t tensed enough fro that fun, now my hamstrings and glutes are really gonna feel this.  The burn started behind her knees and was enough to make Jan forget the burn up her asshole.  She heard the others arriving, tripped or kicked into the sand with the occasional stroke of a crop or cane whistling into a pop or thud as it struck its mark.

The Trainer with the cattle prod had appeared and began pouring something from a bucket into each of the bowls in the sand.  It was a thick grayish brown and Jan saw a generous portion in her bowl and the ones to either side.  Sister Crop approached, tapping the crop against her boot as she continued that annoying pacing back and forth.

“This is a special welcome meal made just for you.  It’s our own special blend of mashed beans and cheap canned dog food, along with some other secret ingredients.  It also has a combination of castor oil and other laxatives that will make for a wonderful shitting performance in the morning.  But, before you eat, I will ask Sister Prod to season each bowl for you.”

The one called Prod walked by each bowl, shaking generously from a big bottle of Tabasco sauce, dripping it all over each serving, then before moving on she took a handful of sand and sprinkled it all over the surface.

“Thank you Sister,” Crop said, “that looks just scrumptious.  Now, when you hear my whistle, you will all drop to Position Five and begin to eat. When I blow the whistle again, every bowl had better be empty.”  The whistle blew and they all dug into the terrible mixture in front of them.  Jan’s eyes watered from the hot sauce and she could feel her sinuses burning but she kept gagging down the pasty stuff, ignoring the sand that caked on her lips and nose even as she swallowed the sand coating the so-called food.  Jan realized that she hadn’t eaten since noon on the day before, that having been part of the instructions.  It wasn’t that she was so hungry, she knew by now that she had to obey.

She struggled to get the last bits of the mess, and by the time she got them into her mouth they were sticky little balls covered layers of sand.  The whistle blew a second time followed by commands from Sister Crop.

“Everybody stop, assume Position Ten, kneeling at Attention.”  She walked down the line, tipping each head back with the crop pushing up under the chin as she ordered “Mouth open, make sure it’s empty, and hold it there.” Sister Prod followed, carrying a large pitcher and pouring something over each face and into each mouth.  Jan gagged and sputtered as vile liquid hit her mouth.  It smelled and tased as awful as she thought it might. 

“Swallow it creatures, swallow it,” Sister Cane stepped in.  “That’s to keep you from being too de-hydrated overnight.  Sister Prod came back along the line and repeated her splashing over the face, up the nostrils and into the mouth of each subject.  “Not that it matters to you since you will drink whatever we order you to, but yes that is piss.  It’s whatever mix of piss we may have had mixed with some water, since we don’t want to waste pure piss on the likes of you, do we?  No, it’s much too precious a substance.  When we want you to drink pure piss, we will have you drink your own, won’t we?”

Jan found herself mentally agreeing.  Yes Mistress, she thought, I will drink it, the same as I will drink the piss of any of the others here because that’s what I’ll be told to do.

The floodlights on three of the corners went out, leaving tall shadows cast from the remaining ones, especially the shadow cast by Sister Crop who now stood at the top of the sand bank.  “Bedtime now,” she said.  “Position Four, the Quad once again.  Assume it now.  Then, in single file you will follow Sister Cane to the crib for sleep time.  Just follow the area that’s lit up.”  Sister Cane jogged along the line, giving each ass a quick stroke as the eight subjects started out to the far corner of the compound where the lights were still bright.  Jan discovered that if she moved her right foot and right hand together and the same with her left, that it was less strain on her legs and hips.  It reminded her of seeing a camel walk in the same manner.  She tried looking ahead but found that the blood flow to her head was easier if she just kept her head facing down as she plodded behind the swaying hips of the big blonde woman.  They came near the corner of the compound and here herded into a steel mesh enclosure that wasn’t more than couple of feet high and looked to be about three feet deep or so.  It reminded Jan of a dog cage, though it was several feet wide.  The she realized that all eight of them were going to be stuffed into it.  Indeed they were, as Sister Cane herded them in so they were packed tight, hips to hip.

“Hands and knees crawl in there.  We set this crib to be just the right size for the lot of you so that you’ll be nice and warm with each other.  Not that it matters, or that I really care, but it is now about 3:30 am.  You will be up and around by sunrise, which today I believe is about 5:30.  Enjoy your rest.  There will be a fresh Sister for you to obey in the morning.” 

Jan was wedged tight between the fat blonde and the woman she noticed before, the one with the really wide butt.  She couldn’t rise up or lie down.  In fact, she could barely move at all.  “No speaking.  We will hear so much as a whispered syllable, so don’t even think about it,” Sister Cane laughed, “you can’t think anyway, so don’t bother,” she said as she closed a gate that pressed up against the welted butts and thighs in the small enclosure, securing it with a latch.  “We thought about putting the canvas over the kennel for the night, but I’m sure you will enjoy the fresh air more than the stink of yourselves confined under a hot tarp.  Good night.”  Sister Cane walked away as the lights went out, plunging the area into total darkness.

Crouching on her knees and crushed in between the others, Jan wondered how she would ever get any sleep, but she felt the exhaustion sweeping over her and through every nerve.  She could also feel the rumble in her guts as the awful food took its toll.  The smell of herself and the others came back to her ass she thought about how much better it was not to be stuck inside a sweltering canvas tarp.  That was when she heard the low rumble of thunder in the distance.

To be continued

       

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Three – First Morning

The thunderclap came quickly after the flash of lightning, and Jan knew it had struck nearby.  Gad, she thought, here we are in a metal pen right beside a tall metal light pole. Perfect.  Crawling through shit would have to be a better fate than a bolt of lightning up the ass, she almost laughed to herself, since “lightning up the ass” was exactly what the corncob buttplug soaked in hot sauce still felt like. 

       Sudden gusts blew a fierce wind through the pen, sending chills along Jan’s aching back and thighs.  Another clap of thunder and blazing white lightning was followed by the rain, which seemed to break loose right over the pen, coming down in cold torrents.  Jan shivered as she felt the bodies on either side of her reacting to frigid water dripping over them.  Jan got her hands up in front of her face, cupping the rainwater, splashing it over her face and onto the clumps in her hair.  She tried drinking a bit, but then remembered how filthy and caked her hands were with mud, shit and sand.  She tried to raise her head, open-mouthed to catch some rain but there wasn’t enough room in the cage to get her head back.  She settled for cleaning off her hands by running them through her hair and then cupping them to catch what clean rainwater she could.

       The storm stopped almost as quickly as it had started, followed by a low breeze that chilled them even more.  Somewhere down the line Jan heard sobs and whimpers.

Light flashed on in their eyes and an unseen loudspeaker bellowed: “You’ll all get something to cry about if I hear so much as another breath of it!”  The light remained on for a moment, and then blinked out, leaving them once again in total darkness.  Bodies shifted in the cramped quarters and Jan’s teeth were chattering.

       Jan must have gotten some sleep because she dreamed she was back home in bed with Dave. He nudged her from a light sleep and by reflex she scooted down between his legs and began sucking his cock as she did any time he woke her.  She felt him yank her head as he facefucked her, shoving his dick straight to the back of her throat and slapping her hands away from touching him.  ‘Hands on ankles, cunt,’ she heard him say.  ‘That just got you an extra five for breakfast.’  Jan was startled by the ear-splitting shriek of a ref’s whistle followed by an almost familiar bellow.

       “Sunrise, lazy creatures, sunrise! Up and outta there, now!” followed by another blast from the whistle.  The gate opened behind the eight women, still shivering in the damp morning chill.  They eased out of the cramped pen as another whistle screamed above their heads.  “UP!  Standing at attention in Position One1” came the command.

       Jan took the position in the middle of the line and she recognized the familiar voice as the large woman who had ‘greeted’ her at the warehouse.  Crap, Jan thought, was that just last night?  It seemed like it could have been a week ago. The woman flexed her broad shoulders and adjusted her sports bra top, shaking her massive breasts and revealing generous cleavage.  She wore black calf-length spandex tights over the very round curves of her ass and a wide silver belt cinched in the voluptuous curve of her waist.  She looked to be wearing a fringed skirt of some kind with an uneven hem, and then Jan realized that it was not a skirt but a collection of various floggers clipped to her belt. 

       They were in several colors, lengths and textures some with wide black plaits and white stitching, some in softer buckskin in two different lengths, a mean looking mass of brown rope in braids with a penis-shaped handle, and dangling over her crotch were two matching cat-o-nine-tails, each of black nylon cord with knots along each tail and short handles with wrist straps.

       “I am Sister Flogger,” she announced,  “not that it matters to you less than shit things who don’t speak.  But these girls of mine will speak to you, won’t they?” she grinned as she took a chocolate-brown flogger in each hand and gave each a playful swing circled behind the group.  “Position Four, now!” she yelled as each of the eight snapped down into the Quad stance. 

       Jan heard the strands hit some of the others, along with muffled grunts, then she felt the stroke fall across the fullness of her ass and exposed cunt, once, twice and three times before moving on.  She felt the corncob butt plug shift in her rectum and realized that she had practically forgotten it was there.  Her anus felt totally numb, but her intestines were rumbling and then the cramps started.  Damn, she thought, when will I get that thing out of me?

       “Shake those butts and ring those bells,” Sister Flogger sang as she pranced along the line, laying her implements on thighs and backs, crisscrossing them and alternating forehand and back.  Jan thought for moment that the shit in her bowels was going to back all the way out her throat with the cramps and the new burning sensations that movement must have caused.  “Let’s have a little more music before we remove the bells, eh?”

       Jan saw Sister Flogger’s black high top sneakers in front of her and the woman’s thighs were on each side of her head with her hand on Jan’s back as she suddenly felt the butt plug jerked from her ass.  “ NO shitting without permission!” she heard another voice as she joined Sister Flogger.  It was the thin birdlike woman from the warehouse ‘reception’ team.  She moved behind the line, dragging a bundle of fresh birch branches along each ass as she did.   Flogger brought the corncob to Jan’s face and bumped it against her lips, obviously demanding an open mouth.  As Jan opened, the cob was jammed sideways between her jaws like a bit gag.  The taste of shit and hot peppers both rolled down her throat as she struggled to hold the vile gag.

       “Everyone hold that butt plug and remember no shitting until I say so!” the woman called out. “Now, all of you stand up in Position Two!”  Jan clenched her butt muscles, trying to hold her guts in as the cramps pushed at her.  Of course the posture of bent and spread legs made it even worse, but what else should she expect?  “Display those tits, pinched hard and pulled up high!” the woman screamed, swinging her birch bundle at each quivering belly as she passed in review.

“Now, form up a nice tight circle,” Sister Flogger said, pulling the first two women into a curving line as Sister Birches herded the others to follow around into a circle, tightening it up so that the fingers pinching tits were brushing the shoulder blades in front of each subject.  “Now, hands on shoulders, and SQUAT!” came the command.

As they squatted, there were small squeals of pain mixed with rumbling guts and stinky farts.  “Now, when I blow the whistle once, you will each place hands beneath the ass in front of you and commence to shit.  When I blow it twice, you will stop the shit flow immediately.  Understood?”  Flogger took the whistle in her mouth, took a deep breath and then stopped abruptly.  Jan caught herself from letting her aching sphincter go at just the last instant but she felt a warm dribble from the big brunette with the big tits in front of her as her ass let go. 

Sister Birches pulled a wicked-looking thin rod from a sheath at her belt and ran over to give the woman a vicious under cut stroke on the hips, just missing Jan’s fingers curled under the ass. The whistle blew and each woman finally let go as stinking piles of shit came rolling out  “Spill it, you’ll eat it for breakfast,” Sister Birch yelled over the chorus of gassy farts and clenched teeth gasping around the corncob butt plugs.  The whistle blew twice as each struggled to stop the flow that brought the first relief any had felt in hours.

“Rub hands across the ass, up and down the back, and wipe them off in the hair,” Flogger commanded, as the circle complied.  “Clean them off good in that hair, and when the whistle blows, then back to shitting,” she continued.  “Hands clean?  Never mind, just SHIT!”  The whistle blew and Jan reached back under the round ass just as a runny mass of turds cascaded from the woman in front.  She felt her own butt expelling what seemed like a bucketful.  There was pressure from the hand under her butt and the other hand smearing shit up all over her body, then changing hands to keep the awful flow from dripping to the ground.  Jan did the same, reaching up over and around the mounded ass cheeks smearing shit over a surprisingly defined torso and even up to the tits then grabbing back down when she felt the big butt flexing on her hand.

The whistle blew twice again and they were all panting, trying to breathe, but all seemed somewhat relieved.  Each kept her hands cupped under the ass in front, rubbing it up over hips so as not to lose any.  “That’s right, hold that precious shit,” Sister Flogger smirked.  “Compared to you, even the shit I command from your ass is more valuable than the whole batch of you combined.  Now everybody up, Position Two, cradle that shit in the tits, and spread it so you don’t lose a precious bit of it.  Now!”

Jan groaned inwardly, choking back the urge to vomit, still holding the corncob in her mouth as she got to her feet, legs spread, knees bent and brought her cupped hands up to her breasts.  She smeared the double handful of stinking crap over them, onto her neck and armpits, then lifted her tits in presentation, glancing down quickly, hoping not too see any crap on the ground between her feet. 

“Time for a little PT, or physical training,” Sister Birch announced.  “But first, everybody turn to the left, step back one step, then down into Position Five, and clean up every tiny scrap of shit you see.”  Jan dropped to knees and elbows, scraping up the stuff in front of her into a little pile, still holding the corncob in her mouth.  “Remove the butt plugs and toss them into the center of the circle.” Jan couldn’t wait to get that thing out of her mouth.  But then Sister Birches continued.  “Now, you can worship those lovely little shit piles properly.  Touch your lips down and kiss that shit, rub those noses in it, and then smear the rest lovingly on those butt-ugly faces.”

As the group followed orders, Sister Birches stepped over to one side, scribing a line with her evil little rod. “Up! Position Two! Clean those filthy hands in those scraggly cunt hair patches,” she snapped, “then let me see those cunt lips pulled wide open”

Sister Flogger joined in, “Now over here and line up on this mark” pointing to the line in the dirt. “Move it now!”  They waddled to the line, each holding her lips wide open as they did.  As Jan passed Flogger, she knew she would be feeling a stroke right up the middle of her snatch.  She wasn’t surprised when it came but she was surprised that it was the “cat” with the knotted cords that struck her, stinging her knuckles along with her tender pussy lips.  Flogger had a broad grin on her face as she looked at Jan and swung the cat against the wobbling ass of the older woman with the platinum hair.

Physical training was tough, Army tough, as Jan had heard it called.  There were the usual jumping jacks, deep knee bends, sit-ups and pushups, then more deep knee bends held into a “duck walk” across the compound to a graveled path.  “Line up again, and let me see another set of sit-ups,” Flogger commanded as they felt the sharp rocks of the gravel on their backs and asses.  After another 25 sit-ups, it was time for pushups.  They were allowed to do them with knees on the ground and feet pulled up, but they had to hold position on the lower end, with arms and shoulders straining.  Flogger liked to walk on those shoulder blades, forcing tits into the sharp gravel and then demanding they get back into position as she stomped over each back.

Then came time for the dreaded leg lifts.  Each had to keep legs straight, knees locked, sometimes tight together, sometimes spread wide, but the worst was having to hold them inches above the ground and remain in that position as thighs quivered and ass muscles dug into the gravel, trying not to erupt into spasms.  Sweat dripped off their bodies in the growing heat of morning.  Well, at least some of the shit is coming off, Jan said to herself, trying to rub some of it away with the sweat that pooled between her thighs. 

“Thirsty I’ll bet?” Sister Flogger asked playfully.  “Well, let’s all get properly hydrated then, shall we?  Everybody up, run to the trough by the gold flag, now!”  They struggled to stand then took off across the compound toward a flag waving in the distance.  The rocks were sharp against their feet but not nearly as painful as Sister Birches’ fresh birches.  Jan was at the head of the pack as she came to the “trough,” which seemed to be a length of dented rain gutter that had fallen off a barn somewhere.  Sister Birches picked up a rusty bucket sitting at the end of the trough and poured from it.

The stench of stale piss wafted up as she yelled, “Down on all fours, and slurp that swill!”  The shape of the trough forced them to lap with their tongues, getting whatever liquid they could, as Birches came back by, pouring more salty piss over their heads and splashing it into the trough.

       “On your backs now, Position Six, legs spread wide,” Flogger called.  Great, more leg spreading and holding, Jan thought.  The two women walked past them, drinking from sport bottles of spring water that dripped with condensation.  She stopped and leaned over Jan. “Like a drink of this?”  Flogger gave the bottle a squeeze and a jet of clean cool water shot out and puddled into Jan’s belly button.  “Ah, too bad,” Flogger moaned.  Then she straddled Jan’s body, holding the bottle in her crotch and squeezing it as she grinned.   Jan opened her mouth and caught part of the water as Flogger waved the bottle, splashing water over her.  “Oh, you will love to drink my real pee when I give you the honor, won’t you?”  Jan tried to swallow the tiny bit of water she had caught with her lips.  Flogger tapped Jan’s chin with flogger’s handle.  “Uh-uh.  Open up,” she grinned again, taking a big pinch of gravel and sifting it into Jan’s mouth.  She tapped again.  “Swallow that.”

       The sun was brutal, even at that hour of the morning, made worse by the three sets of Position drills they were put through, moving from one Position to another called out in random order so that they would be on their backs in Seven, then up for Three or Four, then dropping to knees for Nine, and so on.  They were all drenched in sweat and streaked with shit.  They would practically throw their bodies from one posture to another with the impact of the gravel on knees, feet, backs and butts adding to the discomfort.  But even the rasping of the gravel was better than the tails of the twin Cats that Sister Flogger loved to twirl and swing.  Just then they heard the compound’s gate swing open, followed by the clop of horse hooves.  Flogger saw who was entering and halted the exercise.

       “Stop, take Position Ten attention, and witness the honor of a visit from the Lady Margaret,” Flogger announced.  From her position in the line of eight, Jan saw a very thin woman wearing tan jodhpurs, a white shirt opened down the front and gleaming black riding boots on a magnificent black horse that pranced into the compound.  Two young and lovely collared slaves, matched enough to almost be twins, walked to either side with leashes attached to the stirrup leathers.  Two more slaves followed the horse.  One was about Jan’s age and build with shorter auburn hair and carrying a yellow plastic bucket clipped to a ring on her collar.  The other one was older and somewhat chunky with streaked blonde hair.  She carried a green canvas tote bag with the handles of it clipped to rings in her nipples.  The label ‘shit bag’ was written all over her body, on her forehead, arms, chest, and across her hips.

       “Welcome, Lady Margaret, this is an honor,” Flogger called out. “How often does our illustrious property owner get down to the compound?” 

       “So nice to see you, Sisters,” the Lady replied.  “I heard we had a group of eight this time, so I thought I would take a morning ride.  Lovely morning it is, isn’t it slut?” She looked at the slave on her left.

       “Yes Mistress, it’s a wonderful morning,” the slave replied.  Her smooth torso was glistening with sweat from running alongside the horse and her hair was plastered to her neck.  Jan envied her clean hair that shone in the sunlight.  The horse shook the bridle and shifted slightly.  Lady Margaret turned in the saddle to face the two slaves behind.  

       Be alive pissbucket,” she said, “I believe Black Lashes is going to honor you.”

She turned back to the group as she gave the reins a slight tug.  The slave with the bucket crouched behind as the mare raised her tail and a long arc of piss shot out.  The slave was catching it in the bucket as some splashed back onto her face.  She adjusted her position, trying to hold the bucket in the stream.  Lady Margaret looked back again.  “Too much splash pissbucket, use the mouth and let it flow in!” she called.  The slave opened wide to catch the stream, which flowed over her filled lips and into the bucket.   As the stream slacked off and stopped, the piss slave bent to follow it, careful to avoid touching the mare but catching every drop as the flow stopped. 

“Good pissbucket,” Lady Margaret said, unclipping the leashes and flicking her riding crop at the nipples of the stirrup slave on her right.  “You, hoof hobble, and don’t let her kick,” she swung the crop across to the slave on the left, “and you clean. Get to it.”

       “Yes Mistress,” they said in unison as one went to her knees to hold the mare’s ankles and the other went behind and gently pushed up the mare’s tail as she licked her clean.

“Good slaves,” the Lady said.”  

“Thank you Mistress,” they replied, again in unison and taking up their positions beside the horse.  Lady Margaret smiled as she looked over at Flogger and Birches.  “Have they had breakfast yet?”  She asked.

“No, not yet,” Birches replied. “We are only feeding twice a day, so brunch will be a bit later today.  What did you have in mind, Lady Margaret?”

A lovely little snack of course, and it should be a special treat for new ones.”  She turned in the saddle.  “Shit bag, get up here.”  The slave with the green tote came up alongside. Lady Margaret peered into the bag.  “Yes, some really fresh ones.  Go over and give each mouth a treat.”  The slave started for the line of women.  “Shit bag!” Lady Margaret called, “did I not hear something, or is your mouth too full of shit?”

“Sorry, Mistress,” the slave stammered, “sorry Mistress.  This shit bag thanks Mistress for her attention and begs her forgiveness.”

“Pathetic,” Margaret answered.  “After all the training we’ve given you. Now get over there!”  Lady Margaret accented her words with a quick slash over each nipple with her crop.

“Open wide,” Birches called to the line as the slave walked along and dropped a fresh green ‘horse apple’ into each mouth. “You are so stupid you probably think you will be ordered to eat this lovely gift, don’t you?  No, it is much too precious for that.  Lady Margaret, will you explain, please?”

“Happily, Sister Birches,” Margaret replied.  “The precious apple we have entrusted to each mouth will be held there and will remain intact while it rides across the compound to the red post and back here.  And I want them back here in the same condition they were in when distributed.”  She pulled two smaller crops from a sheath on her saddle and handed them to the two stirrup slaves.  “Here, you two herd them, and give them the proper encouragement.” 

“Yes Mistress, thank you Mistress,” they replied, approaching the line.

“And both of you take a horse turd, too,” Lady Margaret called behind them, smiling broadly.  “And shit bag, you join them, and carry two in your mouth!”

“Thank you Mistress,” shit bag answered as she brought two more out of the bag and put them in her mouth, then placed one in each of the waiting mouths of the stirrup slaves.

“All right then, sluts, get them moving!” Lady Margaret called out as the two slaves swung the crops and the line started jogging toward the post at the far side of the compound.  Jan tried not to wince or gnash her teeth around the acrid taste of the horse turd in her mouth, even when the crop swung across her back as she jogged, moving toward the head of the line to avoid the two slaves.  Then she heard hoof beats as Lady Margaret cantered up alongside them, raising her crop.

To be continued.

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Four – “Tea Party” Time

The line of jogging and running women was strung out on the path toward the red pole, with the two blonde stirrup slaves and their slashing crops moving back and forth along the line, coming up alongside Jan, then one would double back to the end where the two fatter women lagged behind.  That was when Jan heard the hooves and saw Lady Margaret coming up, swinging her crop in long arcing upstrokes right up the ass crack.  Jan knew she couldn’t outrun the mare, but just as she felt the horse approaching her, she stepped to the side to avoid the worst of the stroke.  Lady Margaret didn’t miss a beat as she adjusted the horse’s stride and came up behind her with three nasty swings of that crop.  Jan almost lost her balance and for a moment thought she had bitten into the horse turd in her mouth.

       Lady Margaret cantered on ahead of them and pulled up just beyond the red post, grinning and tapping her crop against her thigh.  “Hands on heads as you run!” she yelled out, watching as the eight women quickly obeyed.  “You, too shit bag,” she called.  “And there’s plenty more punishment for you later.”  Shit bag had been holding the handles of the tote as she ran along right in front of the two fatties at the back of the line.  Her large tits sagged down, weighted with bag and its contents.  Her mouth gaped open and she struggled to breathe as she dropped back to the rear.  That’s when one of the blonde stirrup slaves turned on her heel and whacked her across the tits, followed by two more on her ass as hurried to catch up with the pace.

       Jan saw that Lady Margaret had sheathed he crop alongside the saddle and now held a short braided quirt with a black-knotted lash at its tip.  As each subject rounded the post, she received a quick “X” across the back or shoulder blades.  Even the two stirrup slaves weren’t spared and as the group headed back the Lady spurred the mare into a trot and came back along the line, staying with shitbag as she applied the quirt to her backside and the sagging tits before flicking it along the hips of the others as they straggled to the finish.

       Flogger and Birches were applauding in delight as the group returned and took positions along the line, hands still clasped atop their heads.  “Position Ten, attention,” Flogger called to them, “and keep that line straight!” Jan kept her hands in position as she went down to her knees, noting that some more crushed stone had been scattered along the line where they knelt.  She held her mouth open, balancing the horse apple on her tongue and fearful that saliva would be turning it to mush.  Breathe, she thought, keep air around it, gad it tastes awful.  The slave called shitbag staggered up, her chest heaving as the bag pulled her nipples down.  She bent over, trying to catch her breath.

       “Stand up, shitbag,” Lady Margaret demanded, “ pickup the bag and show me a presentation tray.” 

       “Yes, Mistress, thank you Mistress,” shitbag replied immediately, snapping to attention and fumbling into a pocket on the side of the tote bag.  She brought out a plastic container that looked like an egg carton.

       “Let’s see, eight turdslimes, two slaves and two in shitbag’s mouth.  An even dozen, oh that’s perfect!” Lady Margaret laughed, joined by the two Sisters.  “Shitbag, collect them, my sluts first.  Present them nicely, on the tongue.”

       Shit bag crossed to where the two stirrup slaves were already holding their tongues out with a horse turd balanced on each.  She took them and placed them in the carton, then turned to the line of eight.

       “Tongues out, and those beautiful apples had better be looking good,” Sister Birches called.  Shitbag followed Sister Birches down the line, taking each one as it was offered.  Jan’s was in pretty good shape, the short older woman next to her had shiny coats of spit and saliva all over hers, but it was intact.  The big blonde was not so fortunate, since hers seemed to have been flattened by her tongue or teeth somewhere along the way.  The same went for the curvy one with the big tits and broad butt.  She was coughing as the slimy mass stuck to her tongue.  Shitbag collected the turds and Lady Margaret then indicated that she could remove the pair from her own mouth.

       “Sluts, dismount and hold,” Lady Margaret snapped and the two slaves ran to her side.  One immediately crouched on all fours and the other knelt by the bridle with her mouth open.  Lady Margaret stepped down onto the crouching slave’s back and slipped the reins into the mouth of the other.  She walked to where shitbag stood at the end of the line.  Shitbag knelt and placed the tray on her head for the Lady to review.  Lady Margaret poked at the turds with the handle of her quirt.  “Hmm, not too bad, I suppose, except for this one and this one,” she sneered; pointing to the two mangled ones.  “What do you say, Sisters?”

       “I saw them immediately,” Sister Birches answered.  “And I know where both have been.”  She walked to the two women in question as Sister Flogger approached them from behind.  She walked to the big blonde and nodded her head, winking at her Sister.  Sister Flogger took her cue and shoved the blonde down face first with a boot to the back, then quickly stepped over to the one with the big butt and did the same.  Each woman reached out instinctively to break her fall, but both managed to hold their arms over their faces as they were pushed into the gravel.  Sister Birches topped them off with her boot on their necks, grinding noses into the dirt.  “So what do you have in mind, Lady Margaret?”

       “Well, we always punish the lot of them for any fuckups, and I had thought I might exercise my arm on some asses, but I believe I will save that for when this bunch get promoted to the barnyard, if they ever do.  In the meantime, let’s be sure the noon meal gets an extra shot of oil, then take them to the landing pad and give them a thirty-minute sundial treatment.  You’ll know what happens next and these two here can entertain the other six.”  Lady Margaret walked back to her horse and took the reins as the slave holding them held her stirrup.  She stomped onto the back of the other slave who still held position as a step and climbed into the saddle.  “Shitbag, pissbucket , in your positions.”

“Yes Mistress, thank you Mistress,” they answered, scurrying to get behind the mare.  

“Sluts up.”  The two slaves stood at attention on each side of their Mistress.  She reached out and clipped a leash to each collar, looking at the film of dust on her riding boots.  “Boots!” she snapped.  The two slaves started licking the dust off the bright shine of the boots.  When Lady Margaret seemed satisfied, she turned to go.  “Sisters, would you like to join me and Mistress Evelyn for tea?  We will be testing some slutgrades for performance standards and possible collaring.”

“A pleasure, Lady Margaret,” Flogger replied.  “See you then.”

“Until afternoon tea, then,” the Lady replied, spurring her horse into a trot as she left the compound with her entourage.  A scullery slut arrived just then, carrying two buckets on the yoke strapped across her shoulders.

“Well, is it time to eat?” Sister Birches asked.  “How time flies when you’re having such fun!  What have we today, slut?”

The scullery slut approached them and went to her knees, setting the buckets down on each side.  “Mistress, today it’s oatmeal, lemon and lime peels, shaving stubble and vitamins,” she said, pointing to one bucket,  “and mixed with cuntgrade bathwater and some two-day-old shitgrade piss.”  She smiled as she pointed at the other bucket.

“Sounds yummy, slut.  Mix it up good while I find my castor oil bottle to add.”

Sister Flogger swatted the ass of the nearest woman in the line.  “Down, position five and dig me a bowl, all of you.  We will honor you with food, even though you barely deserve it.”

They waited as the slut came by ladling the slop into the depression each had dug.

The oatmeal looked to be uncooked, studded with the colors of the ground up citrus peels.  The “shaving stubble” was truly awful looking as it was obviously coarse pubic hairs mixed in with what looked like soap scum from the shaving process.  And the smell from the liquid that soaked the entire mass almost made Jan gag even after everything she’d been through that far.

       “I know you’re hungry, so eat it or we’ll beat it, then you’ll eat it,” Sister Birches announced.  Each bent to the ground and began to eat.  Sister Flogger walked behind them, encouraging ‘heartier eating’ with her nasty little black Cat as they plowed through the so-called food.  Jan was choking down the mess, wondering how she’d get the little scraps that she saw in the dirt in front of her, knowing that her face was smeared with it, too.  She worked her lips and tongue and tried to get every awful scrap.  Sister Birches stepped in to help.

       “Up, all of you, Position Nine, present those tits,” she ordered.  “Now, pair off, each of you, face each other, and pinch up the partner’s nipples.”  They formed four pairs and each reach out to take the other’s nipples between thumb and forefinger.  “Pinch ‘em harder, and pull ‘em wider,” she added.  Then Sister Flogger joined in.

       “Now, keep hold of those, lean in and lick the slop off the partner’s face, quickly, now!”  Jan was paired with the older woman, the one with small tits but large nipples.  They leaned in together, the woman working her lips and tongue all over Jan’s face as she did the same.  Her fingers relaxed across Jan’s nipples as she licked.  Jan eased her own fingers a bit when a birch rod slammed down across her right breast and both women pinched harder and kept up the licking.

“All right, faces should be clean.  Line up again, Position Ten,” Flogger commanded. The scullery slut stood at the end of the line with the bucket of vile liquid.  The she came down the line, stopping at each woman and grabbing her by the hair, stuffing her face into the bucket.

       “Now, a little extra drink will help you wash down all that good food,” Flogger smirked.  “Get those faces down and come back up with a nice big mouthful of water and hold it.  You will swallow it when I say.”

       After holding the liquid in their open mouths for what seemed a really long time, they were told to swallow it all down, then herded back to the sandbox where they were given another session of Position Drills, sit ups and pushups.  The sweat had dripped away the most of the shit caked on their bodies but now they were coated with a film of sandy grit as their thighs and hamstrings strained through holding the Quad position for nearly five minutes.

       “Now, hold that position and follow me,” Sister Birches said as she set off across the sand to an area near the compound’s gate.  The midday sun was brutal and the castor oil added to the oatmeal was working its way through everyone’s intestines as they lurched across the compound.  Jan saw the heat waves shimmering off a disc of black asphalt with yellow circles and red lines painted on it. 

       “Keep moving,” Flogger herded them with her black stiff flogger.  “Give me a lineup in the center on the red line.”  The pavement was so hot Jan felt like she could barely touch it with her hands.  And her feet were in agony.  They formed a line, still holding the Quad position.  “Now, all of you, face down flat,” Flogger ordered.  Jan thought her thighs and boobs would fry in the searing heat of the pavement beneath her.  At least we’re facing away from the sun, she thought. 

       “Up, Position Five, forearms and forehead on the pavement,” Flogger called.  “And hold that for Lady Margaret’s sundial treatment.”  Jan knew then why they were faced away from the sun.  When they assumed the position five, each ass and pussy was directly in the path of the blazing sun.  “Sundial treatment, she calls it, “ giggled Sister Birches.  “Oh, and such a nice sunny day, too.”  Flogger came along the line, flicking at assholes as she walked. 

       “And who said that this is where the sun don’t shine,” she chimed in, flicking the big blonde’s ass again, “Since there’s gonna be plenty of sun here today.  Now everyone hold that position, til we come back.”  The two Sisters ambled over to a shade tree near the fence where two chairs waited along with a cart that had some strange-looking equipment on it.

       The sun seemed to bore a hole right through Jan in the half-hour she knelt there, with the oppressive heat around her about to cook all of them, or so it seemed.  The sunburn on top of welts and bruises, along with more she was sure to receive, seemed to be the worst thing yet.  For the first time she was grateful for the dirt and grime caked on her body, thinking it might screen some of the sun’s rays.  Birches thought about that, too, and moved into action.  As they knelt, Sister Birch came up behind them with one of those big super squirt guns.  She had pumped it up, and then blasted each butt and cunt, washing them down with the spray that splashed off them.

       “That will help the sun to shine right in,” Birches laughed.  “And it’s some of that piss mixture from your breakfast mixed with Pepsi, so there’s plenty of sugar in it.  That’s so good for you,” she grinned as she returned to her chair.  It wasn’t long before Jan heard the buzz of flies and felt them crawling over her hips and into her slit.  I don’t know if I can hold this position, she thought.  The whine of a wasp or hornet zipped past her ears as she secretly hoped it would land on somebody else’s butt.   I really don’t know how long I can take this.  Somehow, they all held position until the two Sisters came back, inspecting sunburned asses and swarming flies along with the other bugs crawling over them.

       “Everyone up, move back two paces, turn and face me, then Position Seven on your backs, legs up high.”  That put them on a fresh warm patch of asphalt that scorched their welted backs as the sun continued to beat down on their cunts.  Birches pushed the cart over, and removed a series of funnels from a shelf.  Jan knew what was coming next as Birches stuck a funnel in her ass and twisted in extra tight.  But she noticed that the two biggest women didn't get a funnel but each received a black inflatable butt plug that Flogger pumped up as Birches finished placing her funnels.

       Another scullery slut appeared with two large glass pitchers filled with dark brown liquid.  She knelt and placed then at Sister Birches’ feet and removed a cheesecloth bag from each pitcher, wringing each out and squeezing it back into the container.  Birches smiled with satisfaction.  “My own special recipe for shitslut tea,” she said, “yesterday’s coffee grounds and used tea leaves, two handfuls of dried dog turds and a tall glass of Super Hot Sauce, all steeped in the sun for several hours.  So let’s pour some tea, slut.”

       “Yes Mistress, thank you Mistress,” the slut replied, getting to her feet and approaching the line of funnels.  She began to pour a generous amount into each one.  When she reached the slim and pale-skinned redhead, Birches indicated that she should receive some extra ‘tea.’  Then Jan felt the heat of the brew that had been steeping in the sun all morning as it coursed into her colon.

       “Make sure she gets some extra, too,” Flogger directed, pointing at Jan.  “And since our two special guests don’t deserve a tea enema, just give them a good drink of it.

Open up and hold it there,” as she pointed at the two larger women with plugged asses.

       

After holding the vile and burning brew for several minutes, Jan and the others were severely cramped, but they held on.  Sister Flogger was directing the two scullery sluts in laying out hemp ropes on the asphalt pad.  She then ordered the two fatties to crawl to the area and lie down on their right sides, facing each other.  With the Cat, she slapped and swatted them to come together so that each had her face at the other’s crotch.  Grabbing each by the hair and swinging a fat thigh out of the way, she positioned each head in a scissor lock of the partner’s legs, then directed the two sluts to bind the legs together, trapping the partner’s        face.  Next. Flogger took the two ropes that had been stretch out on the pad and were now under the two bodies.  She tied a loop in one end of each, slipping the other end through and around the two torsos, knotting each off.  She then took the excess rope and after having the two sluts pulls the fatties’ arms around each other’s legs, she wrapped the ends around the wrists and forearms.  She tossed a roll of duct tape down to the sluts.

       “Tape the rope with four wraps on each wrist,” she said, “if anything comes loose, well, you know the drill, sluts.”  Flogger tapped her thigh with the Cat.  When they sluts had finished their task, the two were curled up together, tied tightly into a Sixty-Nine.  Flogger tapped each on the head with the handle of the Cat.  “Open up and bite a big mouthful of cunt hair,” she demanded, “and when I say ‘pull,’ I wanna see heads pulling back and really yanking that hair,” she grinned, winking over at Birches.

       Meanwhile, Birches had removed the funnels from asses.  “Hold it in until otherwise ordered,” she said.  “Now, hold those asses closed and get up!  Make a circle around these two here,” she said indicating the two bound women. “Now, turn around and squat over them.  On my whistle you will all SHIT!”

       Flogger stepped up to the circle.  “And on my whistle, you will all stop the shit flow.”  Birches blew her whistle and the six women clustered around the other two let go with sincere relief, expelling jets of brown liquid and pasty masses that had been roiling in their guts all morning.  The cramps combined with the burning sensation of all the nasty ingredients of the tea party enema made Jan almost keel over in pain, but she knew the consequences of that would be worse than her present discomfort.  Then Flogger blew her whistle and the six struggled to contain themselves.

       “Turn around, smear it around real good,” Flogger ordered,  “then turn them over so we can coat the other side.”  The six struggled to roll the bound pair over to their left sides.  “Now circle up again, squat and wait for the whistle.”  They complied, but Sister Birches seemed to be taking her time and enjoying the building discomfort of the six as they hovered over the other two.  Finally she blew the whistle and gasps and grunts accompanied the sounds of six huge enemas expelled onto the bound pair.

After they were allowed to expel the contents on the hapless pair, the six remained squatting over them while Flogger and Birches debated which one should have the pug released first.  They decided to flip a coin, with Flogger making the blonde’s choice.  She chose heads, and the coin came down tails.

       “Too bad for the blonde thing,” Flogger said with some mock dismay,  “she gets to start on the bottom.  Turn them, blonde down on her back,” she ordered.  The six positioned the two women so that the blonde’s face was directly under the ample ass of the brunette.  Birches put on a rubber glove and deflated the butt plug, pulling it out with a plopping sound.  The stream of shit exploded from the woman, covering the blonde’s face and puddling all around her on the hot asphalt.  “HOLD them in position!” Flogger screamed the six, “and move in CLOSER!”   As they complied, they couldn’t help but get into the mess themselves.  Jan knew it be even messier when they were ordered to flip the pair for the blonde’s turn on top.  And messier it was.

After having the six untie the two others, all were lined up to stand at attention in Position One.  At least only my feet are burning on this hot pavement, Jan thought.  But the sun was still brutally hot as the two Sisters relaxed in the shade.  Their laughter and giggles were interrupted by the arrival of a golf cart driven by the trainer from their arrival night, Sister Cane.  She had two naked slaves attached behind her, in the brackets usually used for golf club bags.  There was an ominous looking black canvas bag on the seat beside her and a tank of some sort mounted on the floorboard.

       “Welcome, dear Sister,” Birches called out to her as she pulled up to the shade trees.  “Have some iced tea?”

       “Love to, Sisters” she replied, as she climbed out of the cart and pointed to the two sluts in the back.  “You cunts, get the buckets ready.”  She sat down with the other two Sisters as the two slaves unbuckled themselves and came around to the container on the floor of the cart, each carrying a bucket. They opened the top of the tank, dipped the buckets in and began sloshing water across the asphalt that was spread with the stains from all eight enemas.  The three women ambled over to the edge of the pad.

       “You will clean up our little pay area,” Birches said, an evil grin on her face.

“And these are just the tools to do it.”  She moved to the bag and pulled out a rough scrub brush about the size of Jan’s foot.  It had a metal pipe about two feet long mounted on the wooden back with a crossbar on top, along with a threaded fitting.  Birches reached into the bag and pulled out a bristle brush, like a huge bottlebrush and screwed it into the metal fitting. 

       “You slut, come here and show them how to use this,” Sister Cane called to one of the slaves who had just thrown another bucket of water across the asphalt.  The slut came over, took the brush and carefully squatted over it, inserting the bristle brush up her cunt and settling her crotch onto the crossbar and holding it with one hand in front and the other behind her. “Now scrub!” she ordered, as the slave began to move the brush back and forth across the pavement, her knees in a deep squat and her feet spread wide to allow the swing of the brush.

       “Now, pull it out and you two get them all fitted up,” Cane ordered.  “And which two get the specials?”  Flogger pointed to the two large women.  “I’ll fit them myself,” she said.

       The slaves fitted each of the six with the brushes and crossbars, jamming the bristles up into cunts as they did.  Each vertical pipe also had a telescoping adjustment, Jan discovered, so that the height could be set for maximum discomfort.  She also realized that the crossbar was studded with sharp little knobs so that any motion along it would increase the pressure and pain.  Meanwhile, Flogger had fitted the other two with the “special” brushes.  These had a penis-shape about seven inches long extending from the back of the brush with a strap to buckle around the head and hold it in place.

       “OK, let’s clean this place up!” Sister Cane yelled, swinging her stick in every direction as she walked down the line.

       

To be continued.

       

       

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Five – Collars and Leashes

       Jan and the other seven were back in the cage or pen, or whatever they called it, “bedded down” for the night, as Sister Cane had laughingly described it.  At least they weren’t butt-plugged with corncobs dipped in Tabasco like the previous night, Jan thought with some relief.  But the positioning for the night’s “bedding down” was already getting to her.  They had been herded into the pen by Sister Cane’s insistent strokes, wedged tightly together like the previous night, but tonight a horizontal pipe had been added to the pen so that they were each bent over it and it was high enough that their knees could not touch the mud floor of the pen.  The result was that they were forced to place their entire weight on their bellies against the pipe, or to relieve some of the strain they would have to get their feet under them and thus put strain on their legs.

       Their palms had been secured behind them, locked to opposing wrists with three wraps of duct tape on each.  With her calves starting to cramp, Jan relaxed her weight back down onto the pipe, feeling the pressure against intestines that she knew would soon be screaming for relief.  Before being herded into the pen they had been fed “dinner” by sister Cane and her two sluts.  That had consisted of some sort of slop made from refried beans and canned dog food laced with lots of garlic and vinegar, not to mention some devious form of laxative, Jan was sure of that.  And this had been “served” by having four of the eight lie on their backs in Position Six with legs spread, knees pulled up beside their heads and cunt cracks wide open.  The sluts had ladled out the “dinner” onto each crotch as the other four were made to eat, then they traded places with the first four.  Jan wasn’t sure whether it was better to eat from a depression in the dirt or from a filthy crack, but she knew she had no choice.  Obedience was the only law here, and she and the others were obeying it.

       

       Jan shifted her weight onto the pipe, thinking back on the remainder of the day that she and the others had just been through.  Sister Cane had been merciless with the strokes as they had struggled with the scrub brushes in cleaning shit from the asphalt pad, their legs in spasms from the strain of basically duck walking with those infernal brushes stuck up their cunts.  Of course that wasn’t as bad as the two big women who had to scrub with the brushes in their mouths, crawling across the hot pavement, slammed with buckets of lukewarm water that the sluts would slosh over them as they scrubbed away.

They would also get the other women’s brushes shoved into their faces when Sister Cane herded them this way or that.  Twice during the ordeal, one of the sluts pulled Jan aside, as they did most of the others, yanking the brush out of her pussy and either replacing it with a thicker or rougher bristle dildo or re-adjusting the height of the knobby crossbar.  At one point, Jan was forced onto her toes as she swept the brush around with a 3” diameter bristle at least 8” long stuck into her pussy.  Sisters Flogger and Birches had joined in, swinging their implements onto bobbing asses and jiggling tits as they drove around on the golf cart so they wouldn’t get their boots dirty in the mess as the group scrubbed away.  Later in the afternoon as the group had scrubbed the pavement clean, Flogger and Birches took their leave to attend tea with Lady Margaret and Mistress Evelyn.  Sister Cane and her two sluts had made sure the pavement was clean enough, having them go back over it several times.  Then the scrub brushes were removed, but the women had to leave the bristly dildos in place and were then expected to run two laps around the entire compound.  At least they were allowed a few minutes rest in the shade between the running and the “dinner service,” Jan thought.

       So here they were, already in their pen for the night and it wasn’t quite dark.  Something must be up with this, Jan surmised, but she didn’t know just what.  As evening fell, she heard noises behind her and realized it was Sister Cane’s two slaves attaching Coleman lanterns to poles at the front corners of the enclosure.  The nasty chuckle of Sister Cane wasn’t far away as she ambled over, running her cane along the bars at the top of the pen.

       “Wouldn’t want anyone to be afraid of the dark, would we?” she laughed.  “No, not that.  Nor would we want you to be lonely, so let’s invite our guests for the evening, shall we?”  She turned to the two slaves.  “Spritz them up good, sluts, or I’ll have you joining them for the night.”  The two slaves produced spray bottles and started spraying all eight of them over their backs, along their necks, through armpits and over tits, and especially up the crease of ass and pussy. 

“Lovely, just lovely,” Cane said.  “This is my special bug spray for summer evenings.  Of course, it doesn’t kill them or keep them away.  The mixture of sugar and flowers will attract them for miles, and of course we will leave the lanterns here to make it easier for our guests to find a home for the evening.  Good night, now.”   The whine of mosquitoes and the irritating buzz of flies grew louder and closer as the sound of Sister Cane and her two slaves faded into the distance, laughing as they went.

It wasn’t the bites that bothered Jan so much, though she was sure she would be a mass of itches by morning, but rather she could not stand the buzzing around her face and in her ears; it just drove her crazy and she didn’t know how she could take this on top of everything else.  Just then she felt the pipe where her belly rested getting hotter and hotter.  As she tried to figure than one out, a find spray of very hot, almost scalding water shot out from small holes she hadn’t noticed.  All eight of them tried to get up and away, scrabbling to get their feet under them.  Jan found that if she could get solidly onto her feet and arch her back up until it hit the grid roof of the pen that she could avoid the scalding spray.  She could only hold that posture for a few minutes but fortunately the spray stopped after three or four minutes.  But then it came back at odd intervals; usually about the time she tried to doze off for a quick but uncomfortable nap.

The spray did seem to cut down on some of the insect visitors, but the hot water on her welted and sunburned breasts and nipples was just as bad, maybe worse, she thought.  The bugs would certainly return between bouts of the hot water spray, crawling in and out of her folds, buzzing in and out of her ears as she squinted her eyes closed to keep them out.  Then sometime after midnight, or so she guessed, the spray changed to ice cold.  Only with the cold water, the spray lasted longer, making it even more difficult to arch up and avoid it for very long.  Her legs were cramped and a charley horse had set in to each calf muscle as she dropped back down onto the pipe, the freezing water making her nipples harden like stone, trying to catch her breath.  At least I can get sort of washed off, even if it will freeze me to death, Jan thought.  She rocked over and back on the pipe, trying to get the spray on her face and her legs along with jets that pummeled her nipples and trickled into her crack.  What she really wanted to do was to rub the mass of pubic hair that was matted with dirt and shit.  Earlier when she was mounted on the scrub brush, she had tried wiping her pubes clean with some of the scrub water, but Sister Cane didn’t miss much and when she saw, she came down on Jan’s knuckles with that cane.

“Keep those hands on the bar and away from those filthy, filthy cunts!” she screamed as she had rapped Jan’s knuckles two more times, followed by a couple of vicious cuts on the ass.

Somehow, Jan managed to get some sleep and no dreams.  The lanterns must have burned out during the night and the bugs seemed to have abated somewhat as she glanced around in the grey dawn.   She heard a humming sound, like some sort of motor, and then the pipe they were resting on slowly dropped on hydraulic cylinders.  Just as her knees touched the ground and she shifted her weight, the pipe started back up again, with the coldwater spray waking all of them up.  The pipe went up until her feet left the ground completely and her back was jammed against the top of the cage-like pen.  It held them all suspended there amid sounds of choking and gasping, then descended once more, leaving them on their knees and then shots of hot water sprayed from the pipe, soaking the front of each torso in scalding water.  As suddenly as it began, the spray stopped and the pipe stayed in its lowered position.  Jan wiggled her body, settling into the mud floor of the pen and tried to get a few more minutes of sleep.

       The cold spray from the pipe coursed over them, stirring and waking them as the gates to the pen swung open and Sister Prod came along the line, giving each ass a quick pole with the tip of her HotShot.

       “Out of there and line up, Position One Attention,” she ordered, moving back along them one more time.  Jan shook her body, trying to work out the kinks and cramps as she took her place in line with other seven.  She knew she couldn’t assume the proper position with her arms still bound, but just then Sister Prod moved along with a slim knife and cut the tape bindings on each wrist.  “Arms up and in Position, now, unless you would like some more of this!” she called out, brandishing her prod.

The soft hum of a golf cart motor became louder and soon Sister Crop appeared with two slender Asian slaves belted into the back of the cart.  Tiny silver bells hanging from their nipple rings tinkled as the cart pulled up near the line.  Sister Crop took her time dismounting as she selected two crops from the sheath beside her seat.  She flexed each one, gave it a practice slap across the breasts of her two slaves, and walked over to meet Sister Prod.

       “Good morning, Sister,” Crop said, smiling and giving each of the eight a quick once-over. It seemed as though she was looking for unblemished skin that she might work on.

       “And a beautiful morning it is, dear Sister,” she replied.  “Perfect for our morning exercises, don’t you think?”

       “Absolutely.  Shall we get started?”

       “Should we water them first?”

       “Oh, that can wait until they have some real thirst, don’t you think?” Sister Crop asked coyly.  That only reminded Jan of how dry her throat was, but whatever liquids the two sisters had in mind could probably wait for now.  She turned to the two slaves. “Cunts, over here and bring your handiwork,” she ordered.  The two slaves unbuckled themselves and approached the line, carrying a leather bag between them that they set before Sister Crop.

       Sister Prod turned back to the line of eight.  “Position 3, hangers, hands behind backs,” she barked.  The line immediately complied, bending at the waist, legs spread and knees locked tight.  Jan glanced at her breasts and nipples that were a mass of insect bites welts and bruises, but amazingly the skin was unbroken.  “Ok, let’s lace them up,” Sister Prod announced.

       The two slaves pulled a series of braided pieces of rough sisal twine out of the bag each with a large metal ring in the center.  They moved down the line, quickly and expertly tying the braided pieces around each neck and then braiding the loose ends of the twine to close up the piece and to form a collar about an inch wide.  As they finished each collar, Sister Crop would come up and tug on the ring that hung at the base of the throat, making sure the collar was both snug and secure.

       “Now, holding Position Three, display those asses!” Crop called out.  Each of the women reached back to pull her ass cheeks wide apart.  Sister Prod just couldn’t resist giving a little extra encouragement to a couple of them as she gave them a quick touch with the HotShot.

       The slaves had dropped a coil of the braided sisal twine in front of each woman and Jan saw that it had a series of knots every few inches along the first third of it.  It looked to be about nine or ten feet long with a large metal ring on one end and a knot with loose ends of twine at the other.  “Leash them up!” Sister Prod ordered.  The two slaves threaded the loose end of the coil through the ring in the collar, pulling it through and then tossing the end between each woman’s feet.  They then went behind them and drew the end through the crotch, up the back, and proceeded to braid the loose ends into the back of each collar.  When all eight been leashed up, Sister Prod yelled again.

       “Up, Position Two, present those tits!”  As they took the required posture, the two slaves came around to the front once more and pulled down hard on the ring end of the leash, bringing it up tight into each crotch.  Jan lifted onto her toes as she felt the knots along the leash biting into the folds of her pussy and along her very sunburned ass.  The ring at the end of the leash hung down against her upper thighs.

       Sister Prod inspected the leashes, giving an occasional tug herself as she went down the line.  She looked at the two slaves. “Adjust a loop for nipple height and the ring for crack fit,” she snapped.  The two deftly created a loop in each leash that ended up between the breasts, showing each woman how to put a hand in the loop and pull down on it to hold the leash tight against her crotch.  Then they shortened up each end so that when the loop was jerked down tight the large ring hung down just low enough to swing against the pussy as she moved.

       “This is the proper way to stand, walk or run with the collar and leash,” Sister Cane told them.  “And when we call for left hand or right or both, that hand will pull down on that leash for all it can, understood?  Of course it’s understood, or you will each wish you did,” she answered for them.  “Now, let’s have a morning jog shall we?”

       “Oh, let’s set the pace for them, Sister,” Prod called out.

       “Excellent idea, Sister Prod.  Why didn’t I think of that?  Cunts, take a spare leash and put them in coffle behind my cart.  And put that one in the lead,” she said, pointing at Jan.  One of the slaves led Jan to the golf cart as the other attached a spare leash to the ring on Jan’s leash ad the other to a strap on the back of the cart.  Then the next woman, the short redhead with the pale skin and pointy breasts was lined up behind her with her leash end snapped to the back of Jan’s collar by means of a short chain the slaves pulled from the bag.  Then each of the others was lined up behind, with the two big women bringing up the rear, where their broad butts would provide even better targets than usual.

       “Now, we will set the pace, and you will keep it,” Sister Crop announced as she settled into the driver’s seat.  “Those leashes are to kept taught and straight between each of you, and no hands will be need with this exercise.  In fact, hands are to be held above the shoulders as we pace our little morning jog.  Do it now!”  Sister Prod climbed in beside Crop and she motioned for the two slaves to follow alongside the cart as they pulled away with the women struggling to get a pace going as the cart picked up speed.

       Jan jogged behind the cart with the knots of the leash biting between her labia and grinding against her clit as she struggled to keep the pace and keep the leash tight at the same time.  They weren’t running that fast, but Sister Crop made sure they followed a rough enough path, along gravel, up and down the sand bank, then along and around the stinking shit trench which they could smell as came near it.   The combined discomfort of the overwhelming stench and the roiling in her guts made Jan wince a little as they came past the trench where they had been made to crawl on their arrival night.  The cart came to an abrupt stop and Sister Prod stood up to face them.

       “Squat, pull the leash aside and shit!” she yelled.  “You have two minutes and then it’s back to exercise!”  They gratefully complied, Jan hoping she could expel everything in that short interval.  At two minutes, Sister Crop motioned to the two Asian slaves.

       “Ring those bells, time to stop stand at attention!”  The two slaves stood with hands behind their backs, chests stuck out, shaking and shimmying to ring the silver bells in their nipples.  The eight women struggled to the required stance and realizing that assuming the position would place their feet squarely in a pile of their own shit. 

       “Pull those leashes tight and let’s go!” Sister Crop crowed, starting off with the cart once more.

The cart picked up speed when they approached the circular asphalt pad from the previous day’s searing sundial treatment.  The Sisters cackled with the fun of it all as they drove round and round the circle, picking up speed each time.  After about four or five turns around the circle the group was running at full speed and ready to collapse.  Sister Crop slowed down a bit then started them across the compound again, this time back to the far corner near the cage pen where they had been confined for the past two nights.  Off to the side of the pen were various frames, posts and benches and what seemed to be a huge version of a playground seesaw with its center support and a quite long beam with a crossbar at each end instead of the usual seats.

       The cart slowed to a stop as the eight women and even the two slaves running alongside bent and wheezed, catching their breath.  Sister Crop motioned to the slaves to unhook the women from the coffle line.  “Line up, Position Two, present those tits!” she ordered, as the women were released and lined up.  After she was unhooked Jan tried to ease the leash away from her crotch without it showing too much as she took the required position.  As they all stood with legs spread and bent and holding their breasts up by pinching the nipples, Sister Prod came by to inspect them, pulling down extra hard on the leash of each one.  The tug pulled the ring at Jan’s throat and the downward force jerked the knotted portion even further up into the crease of her pussy and chafing along her clit. 

       Sister Crop followed in her own inspection with short flicking strokes of her crop on the exposed undersides of the sixteen tits displayed for her.  She stopped at the large blonde and moved the woman’s hands up higher and wider, pulling the breasts up as she did.  She leaned in on the woman and hissed “Pinch them harder,” as she squeezed her own hands around the blonde’s fingers.  The blonde shook with the tension in her fingers as she stood there pulling and pinching at her own breasts and Sister Crop gave each another four quick swats along the undersides before moving on to terrorize someone else.

       

       They had been given a short rest break and one of the slaves produced two gallon bottles of water.  The Sisters had them kneel and pull tight on their leashes with heads back and mouths open.  Then the slaves walked along splashing water over faces and into mouths as the women swallowed and gulped to get as much as they could.  God, it tastes like water, Jan thought, actual water.  No piss or other stuff in it, just water.  The slaves came along the line again and literally poured water into each mouth.  Jan sputtered and tried to swallow all of it because it tasted so good and clean for a change. After a few minutes, Sister Crop called them all to attention once again.  She pointed to Jan with her crop and swept her arm over toward the seesaw apparatus. 

       “You, on that side of the seesaw,” she directed, then turned to the tall slim brunette and directed her to the opposite side.   Next, she selected the large blonde to go to Jan’s side and the big brunette with the curvy torso and big tits to the other.  Then she sent the pale redhead to Jan’s side and the older woman with platinum hair and the small tits with huge nipples to the opposite.  That left two women standing at attention, the tall one with obviously fake boobs, broad waist and huge cunt lips and the sort of average-looking woman Jan had hardly noticed before.  She had sagging tits and a big wide butt above legs that looked too thin for her.  The one with fake boobs was sent to Jan’s side and the other woman went to the far end of the seesaw.

       “Now line up on the seesaw, two on each side of the crossbar,” Sister Crop called out.  “We are balancing weights here, so line them up sluts,” she directed.  The two slaves came over and arranged Jan and the one with fake boobs to straddle the front side of the seesaw’s crossbar and the big blonde and the small redhead on the backside of the beam.  Jan looked down at the crossbar between her legs, seeing that it was a T-shaped piece of shiny metal, probably aluminum, with the T inverted to put a nice edge under her crotch when the time came.  After they had lined up the other four women on the other end in a similar fashion, one of the slaves went to a box mounted near the center.  She lifted a lid on the box and pushed a switch.  The center support started to rise on hydraulic cylinders, bringing the crossbar into contact with the line of labia at each end of the beam and Jan felt the first contact of the T bar pressing the knots of the leash up into her even as she went up onto her toes to relieve the pressure.  The movement stopped and Sister Crop strode over to face them.

       “We want to weigh the balance here, and it looks like it’s an even match, but we want to be sure.  You may hold the bar or each other to maintain balance, but you may not use hands to push cunts off the bar.  If you do, we will know.  Slut, bring it up.”

       The cylinders began rising again, now putting the center support well above waist height on Jan’s side of the beam as their feet left the ground.  She saw that one of the two slaves was holding down the opposite end of the beam with the other four on it.  The beam rose another couple of inches and stopped.  The slave that had operated the switch came to Jan’s side and pushed down hard on the beam as her partner slave released her own side sending the seesaw up into the cracks of the other four.  Jan felt the hard nipples of the woman with fake boobs slam against her back as the bar came down on their side.

After a few more hard slams to one side or the other, Sister Crop approached the seesaw.

       “Balance them out, sluts, all feet and toes off the ground.”  The bells on the two slaves tinkled lightly as they steadied the beam, bringing it level with both ends off the ground.  Jan struggled to hold on as the T bit even deeper into her folds and setting her entire weight onto it.  They were held there completely balanced as Sister Crop inspected them and casually flicked the tip of her crop at random tits or hips and the bar pushed even harder into each of them.  Sweat covered them and the older woman with the platinum hair was shuddering with spasms as Sister Prod nodded to one of the slaves to lower the beam.  Jan’s entire torso was numb as her feet settled onto solid ground.  She was about to hyperventilate and her nipples shook as she evened out her breathing.

       Two more golf carts pulled up to join them, one driven by Sister Flogger with Sister Birches riding shotgun and the other with Sister Cane and her pinched face that looked as though she always had something nasty-tasting in her mouth.   Sister Cane’s cart carried the same two slaves that had attended her the previous day and there was one slave strapped to the back of Sister Flogger’s cart.  She was tall and willowy with firm breasts and an allover tan.  Jan couldn’t see her face, which was covered by a canvas hood, though a long braid of black hair was draped over her shoulder and hung beside her

left breast.  There was a large thick rope coiled on the bracket beside her.  Sister Cane stood up in her cart to greet everyone.

       “Shall we start the entertainment, Sisters?” she asked.

       “Absolutely, dear Sister,” Crop replied.  “And we can polo them all over to the venue, can’t we?”

       “Polo them, indeed,” Sister Flogger, answered with a laugh.  “What a delightful way of putting it!”

       “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”  Sister Crop smiled at her own cleverness.  “You will take your leashes and pull down hard on them, now!”  As the women complied, she continued.

“We will be returning to the trench where you entered our compound, and now that you are evenly matched as to weight, we will have a wonderful tug of war to see which four of you move on to the next grade and which will have to perform some extra tasks before doing so.”

       “You will run to the trench, accompanied by my Sisters and me, as we imagine ourselves on a polo pitch with eight different target balls,” Flogger added with a grin.

       “And those leashes will be pulled tightly into cunts and cracks every step of the way,” Sister Birches chimed in.  “So, let’s get going, shall we?”

       Sister Prod applied the contacts of her HotShot to a couple of butts and the group turned and broke into a run across the compound to the shit trench.  Jan was near the front of the pack and she swung wide to the left of the group as she ran.  But that was just too tempting to Sister Cane who came up beside her and landed three hard blows as she zoomed by, then turned to face the group coming toward her and came back at them.  Meanwhile, Flogger and Birches swooped and curved around, swinging hard and hooting and laughing all the way.  Sister Prod drove the third cart, sticking her HotShot at whatever flesh she passed, including the two Asian slaves who were forced to run alongside.  Sister Crop stood in the back of the cart to give herself maximum reach and stroking power.  She let out a loud ‘whoop’ each time she landed a stroke.  Cane and Prod almost collided head on as they converged on the tits and ass of the big blonde at just the same moment, but at the last second, Prod pulled her cart away to the left allowing Cane to land a square stroke across the top of the blonde’s tits just as Sister Crop leaned out and planted a hard uppercut swing onto the crease of her heavy thighs.

       Flogger and Birches herded Jan’s team to the far side of the trench as Crop and Prod sent the other team to the near side.  Sister Birches dismounted and removed the hood from the slave on the back of their cart.  She motioned for the slave to unbuckle herself and take the coil of rope to the trench.  The woman was a beauty, possibly in her late 30’s, with the prominent nose and high cheekbones of a Native American.

       She carried the heavy rope to the trench and set it down, then handed one end to Jan and motioned for her to move back with it.  As Jam moved back the rope uncoiled and the slave took the other end and walked to the trench and down into it, handing off the end to the older woman who happened to be standing closest to the trench and then waving for her to move back.

       “Stretch it out and take hold!” Flogger yelled out.  “Sluts, get in there and line ‘em up!”  The two Asian slaves and Sister Cane’s matched pair ran to assist in getting the two teams of four lined up on the rope.  There was a scrap of red ribbon at the center of the rope and the tall slave stood in the trench holding it.  Flogger looked down at her standing there in that awful mess.  “Tell us, what we allow you to be called,” she demanded. 

       “Honored Mistresses, this unworthy cunt is allowed to call itself  ‘slutturd’,” she replied looking down to where the level of shit in the trench was above her knees.

       “And why are you here?”  Flogger asked.

       “Honored Mistresses, this slutturd is here for the honor of assisting in this entertainment, and then bathing in the welcome trench.”

       “And why is bating in this stinking ditch so special, cunt?”

       “Honored Mistresses, this slutturd was graciously given the chance to bathe here instead of receiving extra punishment strokes with the heavy cane.”

       “And why were you sentenced to extra strokes?”

       “Honored Mistresses, this unworthy cunt slutturd lost count in its morning flogging.”

       “Well then, let’s get to it, shall we?” Sister Birches piped in.  “Hold the rope up and on your knees.”

       “Yes, Honored Mistress, than you Mistress,” she said as she knelt.  The level of the shit trench was just under her firm breasts with their dark brown nipples.

       “Oh no, let’s have it sit,” Flogger answered.  “On your ass, feet up and spread and keep the rope up!”

       The woman moved around to sit in the trench with the level just under her chin.

Her arms struggled to hold the heavy rope above the mess as her feet rested on each side of the trench.

       Flogger looked to each side now holding the rope.  “On my signal you will begin.

The winning team must pull the other team across the trench.”  She pointed to the two Asian slaves.  “You two take this cunt’s ankles.  When I give the signal she will drop the rope and lie back while you drag her through the trench for her special bath.”

       The two slaves took their position while both teams dug in on either side.  Jan was the third back with the big blonde anchoring behind her. The blonde wrapped the end of the rope around her waist.  Jan kicked at the dirt, digging out a better foothold.

       “Ready?” Flogger called.  “Then three, two, one, go!”

       The rope snapped taut as both teams pulled hard.  The slutturd’s head dropped under the surface as the two slaves ran the length of the trench dragging her by the ankles.

To be continued

       

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Six – Moving Up

       Jan’s feet slipped under her and she felt the team losing ground, but only a foot or two.  They hauled back and Jan grunted loudly, trying to signal the other three to stay in unison with backward lunges.  On the third grunt, the big blonde at anchor and the small redhead seemed to catch on and they lunged back and picked up the ground they’d lost plus a couple more feet.  Jan tried to remember this game from college days when the sororities would do it.  It seemed that if you lunged and yanked back in unison and still kept the pull as hard as possible that you could get momentum.  Once you got them on the move, it was nearly impossible for the other team to reverse.  They had been matched for weight and relative size, but how were they matched for endurance, she wondered.  Could the slight redhead last longer than the older woman of about the same size?  And the two fatties as Jan though of them, how would the blonde hold out against the brunette almost her size in the legs and ass department?

       And Jan wondered about the lasting power of the tall slender brunette that they had paired against her.  She was taller than Jan, probably eight or nine years younger and perhaps ten or so pounds lighter.  Would her youth and leverage outdo Jan’s muscle and determination?  They gave a little ground, maybe only a foot or so, when Jan gave out a big grunt and they hauled back, extending legs straight out, then digging their feet in and hauling hard once again.  Jan saw the older woman’s feet slip sideways along with the thin legs of the woman with the broad butt and saggy boobs.  Another grunt and yank and they were moving backward as the platinum-haired woman backpedaled her feet to just shy of the trench bank and a near to screaming grunt came from the big brunette anchoring the other side and they started to pull back.

       The slutturd had been drug through the trench with only her ankles and feet out of the soupy mess and she lay in the sand at the end of the trench.  Sister Flogger casually motioned the two slaves to roll her in the sandy grit even as she kept here eyes on the contest.  Sister Crop didn’t seem to be happy with how the tug of war was going and she rushed to the side opposite Jan and started applying her crop for encouragement.  That was when Jan saw Sister Prod approaching her side and before the woman could reach them, she let out a roaring grunt and they all pulled harder than ever. 

Whether is was the distraction of Sister Crop hitting their bodies or the surprise of Jan’s animal roar, the others were startled just long enough for Jan’s team to grab the advantage.  The lead woman’s feet slid over the bank and into the trench followed by the thin legs of the one behind her.  The slim brunette and the large one anchoring couldn’t do much but follow at that point.  Sister Birches had handed some of her nasty branches to the two other slaves and they herded the losers completely into the trench by swinging at butts and shoulders, forcing them down onto their knees in the stink and allowing Birches to stand back.

Jan and her teammates stood there, bending and gasping for breath, with furtive smiles at each other.  As they stood up to see their opponents, Jan put an arm around the woman on either side and soon they were in a smiling group hug.  Flogger approached their circle.

“There will not be any celebrations or prizes, but I will admit that it wasn’t too bad.  Not great, but then how could it be from such low forms of life?”  She did give them an extra smile that seemed to be warmer than her usual evil grin.  She unclipped the black plaited flogger with the decorative white stitching from her belt. “So line up, Position Four, a Quad, so that I can deliver your prizes to you.”

They were lined up facing away from the trench so that when they were in position they could see between their legs.  As they waited for Flogger to start her delivery they could see that Birches and Crop had the losing team in the trench bent in Position Three and displaying their asses.  The two pairs of slaves knelt on the edge of the trench each holding the hair of a losing teammate.  Sister Birches walked along behind them delivering a series of vicious cuts with her infamous switches.  Then they heard Crop call out “TEABAGS!”  The four slaves took the four losers by the hair and in rhythm pushed their heads under the surface and brought them back up.  They repeated it as Birches continued up and down the line.

Jan felt the quick four strokes across the broad part of her ass cheeks followed by a really hard one along her upper spine and a fast upswing into her twat and belly.  Having been really punished and hit in some very cruel ways in the past few days, Jan strangely felt as though those strokes were a reward.

After a brief rest they were all lined up at the edge of the trench with heads down and asses up in Position Five.  That was so the Sisters didn’t have to look at the shit covered faces of the losers according to Sister Cane.  But Sister Flogger seemed to be in charge as she stood opposite them on the back of her golf cart.

“You have actually obeyed well,” she said in earnest tones.  “And you will all be allowed to move up to shit grade.  But before then, there is one more task for all of you.

Our welcome trench, which you can all see before you at this moment, needs to be cleaned periodically so that we can keep it fresh for our activities.  Flogger spoke without an ounce of irony as she described the clean-up procedure.  “You will be given yokes and buckets, on each side of the yokes. The losing team will fill the buckets by scooping the shit. All eight of you will carry buckets to the field where they will be spread as fertilizer.”

       At that point a wagon came through the gate pulled by two large women in an ox yoke.  They seemed to be in their late forties or early fifties with wrists strapped to the yoke so were bent over and their large tits sagged down and swung as they plodded into the compound.  Copper bells attached to their nipple rings rang loudly with each swing of the pendulous breasts. But what was most striking about them was that their bodies were almost completely covered with hair.  It covered them down their legs, across the broad backs along their arms.  It tapered off along the tops of their breasts and across the cheeks of their asses.  A petite woman in white blouse, black vest and riding breeches drove the wagon, flicking a long bamboo whip to keep her team moving.  The woman had two or more paddles in holsters at her wide belt and there seemed to be more of them in a slot beside her driver’s seat.  In the back of the wagon were stacks of white five gallon buckets and wooden shoulder yokes with rings at each corner.

       “Welcome Sister Paddles,” Flogger called out.  “Just in time for the tasks to begin.” She motioned to the four slaves.  “Bring the cleaning supplies over.  You eight, up now, at Attention, Position ten.”  They all knelt, backs straight, heads back, with hands locked behind their necks.  The four winners were at one end of the line and four buckets were placed behind each of them, along with four for the losers.  Then the slaves moved to the losing side with what looked like one-gallon paint buckets with wire handles and a snap hook, attaching them onto the collar ring of each of the losers.  That left the buckets resting against the tits of the four women.”  Sister Paddles stepped forward to speak with a surprisingly large voice for such a small woman.

       “You four will use those buckets to fill the larger ones,” she announced, “and they will remain on your collars as you do so.”  She grinned innocently at them as they absorbed the idea of how they were to scoop and scrape shit from the trench with a bucket attached to the neck.  Jan shifted a bit, relieved that it wasn’t her that would be scooping like that, but knowing it was still not going to be fun.

       “You other four will hold buckets to be filled in the following manner,” she continued.  “You will kneel with heels under the ass and the bucket on the thighs.  You will cradle it lovingly between the tits with the chin resting on the rim of the bucket.  Since we recognize differences in sizes, each of your buckets will be marked with a line.  You are to be sure that each of your four buckets is filled to that mark or above it.”

       “After the first four buckets are filled, you will select four more buckets belonging to our scooping losers and be sure that they are filled as well,” Sister Cane chimed in.  “We will pair you off for the other buckets to keep the loads balanced, but you scooper losers will scoop into any bucket held before you until its holder rises to fetch another.”

       “When all buckets are full to our satisfaction you will be yoked up by my slave pair,” Sister Crop added, “and Sister Paddles and her hairy oxen will lead you to the field.

It should only take, oh, five or six trips to empty and clean the entire trench and spread that valuable fertilizer on our fields.”

       “And it will be done by nightfall,” Sister Flogger stated, with a tone that said it would be done in that time.   Crop walked along the line of the losing four tapping her crop against the metal buckets.

       “Get on with it, now!” she barked.  “And you four, get buckets over here.”

       Jan turned to see that eight buckets had been set behind her and each had been marked with a line about two inches below the rim.  The big blonde beside her saw that the mark for her buckets was nearly at the top.  And the small redhead’s marks were almost a third of the way down on her buckets.

       “Quickly, quickly,” Paddles called out, swinging her long bamboo whip at the four in the trench.  The four women bent low, scooping up bucketsful and turning to dump them into the waiting white buckets.  “Faster you slugs!” Paddles yelled again and swinging her whip.  The speeding-up process caused shit to fly and spill over the edges and down the sides of buckets, all up and down arms and necks of scoopers and to splash into faces as the other four held their chins on the rims of buckets that were being filled.

       The buckets had been filled and Jan knelt near the eight she had been assigned.  The four scoopers began to clamber out of the trench before Sister Paddles halted them.

       “Uh-uh.  Be sure that scoop bucket stays full whenever you leave the trench,” she said.  So they each had to squat low to fill the bucket that hung on the chest before they could climb out and approach the array of buckets and yokes.  The wood yokes had depressions for the shoulders and a large notch for the neck.  The buckets had rope handles with a hook at the center of each and they were hooked into rings on the ends of the yokes.  Sister Paddles had kept the two Asian slaves to assist her with yokes and buckets while the other slaves and the Sisters adjourned to more pleasant diversions.  Sister Flogger had take care to stand the one she called ‘slutturd’ in one end of the trench and flog her from knees to neck front and back before the group left with slavetturd running along behind Flogger’s cart tied to it by a rope through her crotch with a short leash attached.

They were all made to kneel while they were fitted, then Sister Paddles commanded them to stand.  The weight was staggering to Jan.  She had no idea how far away this field might be, but she certainly hoped it wasn’t too far.  Sister Paddles motioned for them to line up and signaled to the two slaves to attach their leashes.  They were leashed back into the coffle with each hooked to the collar of the next.  The slaves gave an extra tug on the leash to make sure it bit deeply into the crack and seated the knots across tender flesh.  Paddles came down the line and gave each butt a hard smack with a wide leather paddle as she climbed into the wagon seat and swung the bamboo whip at her two ox-like slaves.  She tossed two slender wooden paddles that looked like paint stirring sticks onto the ground as the wagon started out and the line walked behind.

“Keep those buckets moving,” she called out to the two slaves and pointing out the implements.  “Don’t spare them a bit!”  The group started out of the compound and down a narrow gravel path through a thicket of woods.

Jan plodded along the path through the trees and then up a short incline which flattened out into a broad field.  Actually, it was several fields, since there were slaves working in various patches of vegetables, fruit orchards and in a far pasture she saw cattle gazing and slaves moving among them.  Directly ahead was a patch of dark earth with four females pulling a plow as another walked alongside them with a whip.  Paddles drove her wagon up to the side of this field and climbed down.  She took a bucket from the back of the wagon, walked up to her two ‘oxen’ and gently poured water into their open mouths and splashed a little over their faces.

The two slaves were unclipping the leashes and leading the group, two at a time and spread them at various points along the edge of the field.  Paddles walked over to supervise.

“Set the yokes down, take your buckets and spread it all out nice and smooth in the area between you and the next shit buckets,” she said.  Jan and the others followed orders, pouring a line from a bucket then moving over and pouring another line beside the first.  They worked from one woman to the next, spreading out the wretched contents of the buckets along the edge of the plowed field.

They were on their fourth trip to field from the trench, which was now getting closer to empty.  The four scoopers had to crawl along with faces almost in the dirt, scraping remnants into their buckets and bringing them to fill the larger buckets.  One more trip, Jan thought.  She realized that once she’d started on the trips back and forth that she was in a zone of some sort.  Subspace, she thought, that’s what it is, subspace.  Then it dawned on her that a lot of the stuff they’d been going through wasn’t just blind dumb pain or sadistic jollies for the Sisters, it was conditioning.  Wow, Jan thought, what a discovery.  She went back over her time in the compound, trying to focus on just how long they had been there.  When she had a hard time coming to grips with that idea her mind drifted to thoughts of Dave and the things they had done that brought them to apply to S.W.A.T.

She had often been a loving and willing painslut to Dave, ever since they’d met almost ten years before.  They had played and experimented with a huge array of bondage, ties, cuffs and collars, and Dave’s collection of crops and paddles was extensive.  She was never sure she loved being spanked or cropped, but she certainly missed not having it in those times when they didn’t for one reason or another.  She definitely disliked electrical play but she adored candle wax on her nipples and breasts, especially when mixed with Dave’s quick wrist on a crop across her thighs or pussy.

She snapped back to reality when one of the slaves hit her ass with a stick and she felt the leash jerk at her throat.  Catch up with them Jan, and stay there, she told herself as she got back on pace with the coffle.  Her daydream slipped away as they climbed up the incline to the field and walked along to what she thought of as “her place” where they poured out the shit to cure in the sun. 

“Come on now, dump those buckets and spread it out nice since this looks like the last full load,” Paddles called out to them.  After they had emptied their buckets Paddles stood up in her wagon seat.  “Now that you have dumped it, get on your knees and spread it smooth and even.”

Jan looked at the lines of shit laid next to each other like stinking ribs of corduroy in the field. 

“I said smooth it out, spread it nice!” Paddles screamed at them.  The all dropped down on all fours and began smoothing out the rows into flat stinking sheets in the soil of the field.  “Faces down close and inspect the work,” Paddles added and she jumped down from the wagon, pulling a varnished wooden paddle with holes in it from her holster.  Jan had crawled to the far side of the lines of shit to keep it between her and the Sister.  And she saw that a couple of others had done the same.

“Everyone on this side, noses in it, spreading it out!” she called.  Jan felt it squishing beneath her as she crawled back to the edge of the field with her nose dragging across the lines of shit.  “Paddles tapped her head to turn her around and Jan found herself crouching down in Position Five with her ass right in front of the paddle.

               CRACK!

       The first smack of the paddle on Jan’s rump echoed across the field, loud enough to make the slaves picking tomatoes and corn stop their work and look for the sound.  Four more followed, each as loud as the first before Paddles moved on to the next woman.  Jan’s arms flew back and forth, rubbing at lines and piles of shit to smooth them out while she still tried to catch her breath from the extreme paddling she had just taken.  Later when Jan thought about it she asked how such a small woman could swing so incredibly hard.  She had taken hard swats from Dave’s two hundred pound body, but never anything like that. 

       “Now get back to spreading and smoothing,” Paddles called out after she had finished smacking the line of asses.  She crooked a finger for one of the slaves to approach her.  “Squat and spread, slut” she ordered and as the slave complied Paddles rubbed each edge of the wood paddle along the slave’s pussy, sawing it back and forth a few times on one edge then the other.  The slave thrust her crotch into the paddle as it stroked her.  Paddles inspected the wood and saw that both edges glistened with juicy moisture.  She pressed it flat against the slave’s nipples.  “Polish it,” she said.  The slave took the paddle and began to rub her own juice from the edges onto her tits, then rubbed the flat of the paddle across them, flipping it and polishing it on both sides. 

The Sister pulled a leather paddle from the opposite holster. And pointed it at the other slave.  “Over here and give me Position Three.”  The slave hurried to her side and assumed the position. Paddles stepped behind her and gave her a dozen rapid and loud swats with the heavy leather implement.  “Do you know why I gave you those, slut?”

“No, Honored Mistress, this stupid cunt does not know, but it thanks the Mistress for her attention to a lowly cunt slut.”

“I gave them because I wished to,” she said.

“This stupid cunt thanks the Mistress once again,” she replied.

Paddles acknowledged the reply with a hard upswing into the slut’s tits as they pointed straight down.  “How dare you not recognize me by the proper title?”  She repeated the blow.

       The slave flinched but held position.  “Honored Mistress, this stupid, stupid cunt begs forgiveness for not using the proper title and humbly begs to be punished for its stupidity.”

       “Very well,” Sister Paddles answered.  “Take that slag’s collar bucket and bring it here.”  The slave unclipped the metal bucket from the collar of the older woman with platinum hair and brought it over to Paddles who looked down into it.  “Hmmm, half full should be enough.”  She stepped back and looked at the group of women still smearing shit across the dirt, smoothing it out.  “Lift the bucket, turn it over and wear it as a hat,” she demanded.

       The slave had no expression on her face as she did as told and the shit started dripping down her long hair and across her forehead and down her nose.  But the bucket had a sort of seal against her head and the flow slacked off. 

       “Lift it up slightly,” Sister Paddles said, and when the slave pulled the bucket off her hair the rest came cascading out over her, covering her face and down onto her shoulders and across her breasts.  “Set it back down and leave it on your head until I return you to your kennel.”  She took the wire bale handle of the bucket and put into the slave’s mouth, directing her to keep her hat on.  She looked at the shit spread to dry in the sun and climbed into the wagon.  “All right, hook them up and back to the trench to finish up our task.”

       

       The final trip to the field had been an easier one since there were only about twenty buckets left instead of the usual thirty-two, or so Jan had thought.  Sister Paddles had obviously thought differently. Paddles told them to use all the buckets and to fill them evenly. After the scrapers had cleaned up the last of the trench leaving only mud walls and bottom, they climbed out and each woman was told to kneel at her four buckets.  Sister Paddles came down the line with the two slaves and directed them to “shuffle some buckets.”  The two would take a half-full bucket and dump its contents into another to nearly fill it, or they would pour parts of a full bucket into two or three others, emptying that one.  Sister Paddles stood back and smiled.

“Now I said to even them up, so do it.” 

Jan picked up a full bucket and started to tip it into one of hers that was less than a quarter full. 

“No, no!” Paddles yelled.  “Buckets stay on the ground. Tits are on the rim.  Use hands to transfer from bucket to bucket.”

So there they were with tits on the rim as they scooped double handfuls up onto their breasts and then shifted to another bucket to scrape shit off their tits and into it.

The slave wearing the bucket hat was given another metal bucket and told to scoop from the buckets.  After she filled it she pranced back and forth behind the line and when Paddles would call out “Hat!” she would dump it over the head of whichever one she was behind at the moment, repeating it until all eight of them were thoroughly coated from head to tits.  And before they were yoked up for the final trip they were made to stand in a tight circle and smear shit all over each other from head to toe, with special attention paid to smearing it up into cunts and ass cracks as Sister Paddles had her slaves doing, just to be sure.

       The knots bit against Jan’s clit and right into the rosebud of her ass with each step as she walked.  The buckets swung against her legs and scraped against the shit caked on her calves and knees.  But she was somehow elated by knowing that she was moving on from three days -- or was it only two? -- of the lowly treatment all eight of them had been through.  Ahead of her she could see the jiggling ass of the large blonde and she felt a sudden kinship to her and the others, but even somehow dreading how future training would probably pit them against one another.

       They reached the field and once again dumped the buckets and then crawled across the masses of shit to smooth them out to Sister Paddles’ satisfaction.  Then they were directed to place the yokes and empty buckets in the wagon and then to line up and assume Position One, Attention.  While they stood there, Paddles removed the yoke from the two hairy women-oxen and with her paddle herded them to the back of the wagon where they also assumed Position One.  The two slaves moved along the line and paired off the eight women, hooking short chains to their collars so they would walk shoulder to shoulder.  Then they arranged them according to size in front of the wagon.  Jan was paired with the tall and slender brunette and they were second behind the two smaller women, the pale redhead and the platinum-haired older woman.

       The two hairy oxen were fixed to the back of the wagon with chains from the collars running down their backs, through the crotch and attaching to the rear of the wagon box.  They would provide brakes as necessary, Paddles had explained.  The four pairs of chains were clipped to a heavy rope that ran between them to the front of the wagon.  It was obvious to Jan that they would be pulling the wagon back to wherever they were headed, with the rope on the chain that paired them off hooked to the wagon.  Then the two slaves came along and ran the front rings of their leashes back down through each crotch, pulling them tight and under so that each woman had to bend over as the leash was wrapped around the heavy center rope and secured. 

       The two slaves whipped them into movement as Sister Paddles lounged on the wagon seat.  Jan felt the two ox-women at the rear pulling back against the wagon as they rolled down the short incline from the field.  The pull didn’t seem to be too difficult as they followed the path back toward the compound until they passed the gate and saw a long sloping hill ahead of them.  The slaves put the bamboo whips to work as they started up the hill and Sister Paddles stood up and demanded that they go even faster.

At the top of the hill the land flattened, encircled by trees.  In the distance were barns, corrals and outbuildings.  Sister Paddles was enjoying her ride and pointed out the buildings up ahead.

       “Head them for the big barn,” she said.  “And soon they will see their new home for a while.”  She chuckled and sat back.  Jan trudged along with sweat dripping and smearing the coating of shit that covered her.  The leash knots bit harder against her clit in the bent position, compounded by the leash having been doubled back and passed through her slit again.

       “Look alive as we come to the barnyard you turd cunts.  You’re moving up in our world!”  Sister Paddles seemed quite satisfied with her comment.  The two slaves jogged alongside and flicked their whips until the team of eight was trotting into the barnyard with the two ox-women riding on the tailboard of the wagon.

To be continued

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Seven – The Barnyard

       The barnyard was an expansive area surrounded by various stables and sheds, dominated by the imposing size of the main barn.  The buildings were all painted a deep red with black trim and the pens and corrals were four-board fence all painted black as well.  The eight women pulled the wagon up to the wide front doors of the big barn where Sister Paddles pulled them to a halt.  The two slaves attending Sister Paddles unhitched them from the rope and the chains that held them in pairs.  They were led by the leashes to a horizontal rail that looked like a hitching post from a cowboy film.  They were told to stand in Position One with their backs to the rail and the ends of the leashes were wrapped around it.

       Then the rail began to rotate slowly, tightening the leashes as they passed under the crease of ass and pussy.   Jan felt the leash knots pulling up deeper into her as she was slowly drawn back to the rail.  At contact of her ass with the rail she flinched and tried to pull away.  The rail had sharp prongs all over it, punching painfully into assflesh that was drawn back to it.  A high laugh rolled over the yard as Jan saw dear Sister Flogger coming toward them followed by the smaller Sister Birches.

       “Feels good to your unworthy asses, doesn’t it?” she asked as she met the line of eight.  “That’s a special barbed wire wrapping on that rail.  And when cunts are disobedient they get to ride the length of it.”  She snorted with laughter as she walked along them casually swinging her flogger across their tits.  “So you all made it to shit grade here at the barnyard, hmm?  Well, let’s see what’s next shall we?”

       A group of women came down a path on the opposite side of the barnyard, each with a basket strapped on the back and a bucket clipped to the collar and carried so that the tits rested on the edge.  Another team of four pulled a wagon loaded with hay as they came from outlying fields.  Others pulled wagons or pushed wheelbarrows loaded with vegetables and fruit.  Jan was amazed at the number of naked women she saw in this place, each performing some sort of task.  Then she noticed six big rough-looking women, two of them wearing burlap loincloths and carrying short canes in one hand and large bags in the other.  The other four women carried yokes with double buckets.  All six of them had numbers tattooed across their chests just under the tits.  They passed across the line without looking at the eight women tied to the rail and divided into two groups, each supervised by one of the sluts in loincloths as they went to various pens with what appeared to be evening slops.

       “Ah the scullery sluts with food for the prized hogs and cows,” Sister Flogger told them.  “And you lucky cuntturds get to eat it, too!” she smiled and continued.  “You were looking at their numbers.  They are all convicts that we have arranged to serve their sentences here.  No need for their details, just that this is better than what they might have received elsewhere, and it’s certainly better than what they deserve, isn’t it, slut?” She called out to the last one in line that had passed.  The woman stopped and turned to face Sister Flogger with her head looking down.

       “Yes, Honored Mistress, this treatment is certainly better than what this filthy cunt slut deserves.”

       “Of course it is,” Flogger replied.  “Now get back to work.”

       “Yes, Honored Mistress, this filthy cunt slut thanks the Mistress for her attention.”  The woman disappeared around the corner of the barn as Flogger turned back to the line.  “You will find that we have quite a selection of sluts and cunts here, not just submissive wives as our name suggests.  Our organization was started sometime ago, and we have branched out.  Some of us think we should keep the initials and call it the Submissive Women’s Academy of Training.

       “But never mind that, you have applied as submissive wives, or at least as significant partners, and have undergone serious review before we accepted you to our program.  Your ability to obey some of our more stringent humiliations in your first days here allows you to move up to shit grade for the next phase of your training.

       “You will spend two to three days in shit grade, perhaps more if you don’t perform to our level of expectations.  And re-visiting shit grade is common here when cunts and sluts need some reminders of how important discipline and obedience are to being a well-trained slave.”

       Sister Birches stepped in to continue.  “But before we get you situated with food and stables, we will have you cleaned up.  Frankly, you all stink like shit!”  She laughed along with the other sisters and a group of the scullery sluts who had gathered off to the side.  “Take them to the wash rack and scrub them down, then send them to the hay shed for evaluation and assignment.  We will meet them there.”  The three sisters left them in the care of the group of scullery slaves, almost all of whom had convict numbers tattooed across the chest.

       They were unhooked from the rail and led by their leashes to a pen beside the barn where each was un-collared.  The collars were woven tightly around their necks so they were cut with shears, then the women attending them made a great deal out of pulling the knotted leashes through their cunt cracks as slowly and painfully as they could.  They each stood between a pair of stout posts with cuffs on chains hanging from them.  Their wrists were cuffed so that heir arms were spread wide and they were made to straddle over a grating.

       The women worked in pairs, one with a high-powered hose and a soap pump, the other with a rough brush on a handle.  They would spray and soap, then scrub each one until the flesh was ruddy and scratched.  The water was alternately cold then scalding hot, and Jan wondered if she would actually get some shampoo in the tangled mass of her shit-crusted hair.   The brush scrubbing through the rough forest of her pussy hair was another reminder of the past few days as the bristles cut against the welts and bruises in her crotch.  Never mind, Jan thought, at least I’m getting clean again.  We all are, at least for a little while.

       After the scrubbing each was fitted with a pillory collar.  This was a two-piece plank with a hole for the neck to be locked into with wide leather cuffs at either end for the wrists.  A chain with a snap hook hung down under the center of the device.  The clip swung against Jan’s clit as she was pulled to her feet after being fitted into it. Jan walked at the head of the line of eight women with her hands held at shoulder level by the cuffs, her head rigidly locked into the plank and held up by a wood block under her chin.  The scullery sluts led them to a shed with stacks of hay bales around it and a broad porch roof.  Inside was a long table and the first thing she noticed was the smell of grilled meat, and warm butter.  Real food!

       The several Sisters were seated behind the table, along with Lady Margaret the horsewoman and some other women Jan had not seen before.  They seemed to be enjoying the food and drinking wine as the eight new shit grades were led up to the shed and their pillory collars chained to a long beam at the corner of the porch.  Another slave, whom Jan recognized as the Native American who had been drug through the shit trench, knelt before them with her head to a bowl on the ground.  She had not been allowed to wash and the dried shit and mud was caked over her body.

       “So did you enjoy your bath, cunt?”  Sister Flogger asked her.

       “Yes Honored Mistresses, this unworthy cunt is grateful for the bath,” she answered.

       “And will you lose count again on your morning flogging?”

       “Honored Mistress, this stupid unworthy cunt will never again lose count, and this shitturd slutclunt also begs for double floggings for a week as a punishing reminder.”

       “Excellent idea,” Lady Margaret chimed in from her comfortable seat at the center of the table.  “And then you will spend three days as my personal pissbucket, both for me and my mounts.” 

       “This stupid unworthy cunt of a shitturd thanks the Honored Mistress for her special attention.”  The slave put her head back to the floor with her nose and mouth hovering over the empty bowl.

       “Take the bowl to the kennels and beg the doggy sluts to fill it with dog vomit.

Then bring the bowl back to the punishment post in the central yard where you will eat and be chained for the night.”  Sister Flogger smiled as she sent the slave on her way.

       “Yes, Honored Mistress, thank you Honored Mistress,” the slave said as she took the bowl and scurried away.  

       Sister Flogger turned to Sister Birches and giggled.  “You know they have some interesting tasks at the kennels that she will perform before she gets a full bowl of dog puke, don’t’ you?”

       “Indeed, Sister, indeed,” Birches replied.  “Lady Margaret, you are our hostess this evening.  Would you care to address the new class of shit grades?”

       “Delighted, Sister,” Lady Margaret replied, rising to her feet and looking out over the eight women chained at the porch.  “You may have wondered why, if this is an academy for the training of submissive women, that there are no men about.  Well, not that it matters to shit grades, but there are men about, just not here.  We have determined over many years of our practice that the surest way to complete obedience is obviously through complete humiliation.  We peel away the inhibitions like the layers of an onion, stripping you inside and out of everything in your existence except for the desire to serve and please.  And who better to peel a submissive woman to her very core than another woman?  So yes, you will learn to serve men, women, and any creature we demand, and you will serve with enthusiasm, honesty, and even joy.  But for now, all that teaching is done by the women of our Sisterhood, and we are good at it, aren’t we?”

       She looked up and down the line of them as they nodded silently.  “And our cameras have caught some of the best moments of the past few days in your lives so that your Masters will soon have some video entertainments to occupy them in your absence.

And if you continue to perform as expected you can hope to see your Masters when we elevate you from slutgrade to slave meat.  Now, I think we should all finish our dinners.”  Lady Margaret smiled slyly and sat down, raising her wine glass to the group of eight.

       Sister Birches stood and clapped her hands.  The convict sluts unclipped them from the beam and led them in a line to the dirt floor in front of the table.

       “Position Five, now!” Sister Birches yelled out, and they complied with the wooden collars hitting the ground in unison.   Birches clapped her hands again and two more sluts appeared with bowls of meat and broiled chicken, placing a bowl in front of each woman. 

       Jan smelled the incredible aroma of meat, and sauce and butter and garlic wafting from the bowl just inches away from her drooling mouth.  Then she saw that the bowls were very deep.  Sister Birches nodded and the scullery sluts slid the bowls under the faces of the salivating women and then they shoved each head down to the bowl.  The pillory collar prevented them from doing more than licking at the food with struggling, starving tongues. There was simply no way that they could get a mouthful of the food that filled their nostrils with its richness.  The Sisters clinked their glasses and giggled in amusement.

       Oh, eat bitches, just eat!” laughed Sister Birches.  Jan was struggling to get the tiniest bite of the delicious food but the best she could do was to lick at the sliced steak and chicken drumstick at the bottom of the bowl.  After a few minutes the Sisters were tried of the struggle and Birches ordered them to stand up at Attention.  The aromas of the food hovered around them as they were forced to stand and the sluts took slices of steak from the bowls and stuffed them into the women’s cunts.  Then they took a chicken drumstick from each bowl and slipped it into the ass of each of the new shit grades.

       The Sisters shared a good laugh at that, watching as the scullery sluts wiped the grease from their hands across the noses and tits of the women.

       “Too bad they seem to have lost their appetites,” Sister Flogger said.  “Or later tonight they can try to eat each other out!”

       “Or, perhaps they will find breakfast at the hog trough to be more appealing,” Birches answered with a grin.  She then turned to the women.  “We will call each of you in turn for review and assessment.   You will step forward and kneel before the table of our Sisterhood.  Who do we have first, Sister Cane?”

       Sister Cane reached into a jar and mixed some slips of paper around.  “We will draw by random,” she said, still stirring then brought out a slip of paper.  “First appears to be Marianne, subslut wife of Jim, 33 years old, weight 150 pounds.”

       The tall black-haired woman with the fake tits, broad hips and huge flapping cunt lips was released and shoved toward the center in front of the table.  She dropped to her knees with head down, nose touching the ground.  Sister Birches read from a clipboard.

       “Shit turd once called Marianne, you triumphed in the tug of war with your team, but you always stayed at the middle of the pack in our training exercises.  You will do a full three days of shitgrade, one with the hogs, one with cows, one of our choice.  You will now thank us as you have heard others do.”

“This unworthy shit turd thanks the Honored Mistresses for their kind attention,” the woman replied.

“Not bad,” Sister Birches answered.  “You will each be allowed that phrase and that phrase only until further notice.  Now sister, who is next?”

“Second, is Laurie of the big tits, 170 pounds, 47 years old, a twice-divorced subslut now in training for the collar of Master Gerald.”

The dark haired woman with the curvy torso and massive tits took her place on her knees before the table.

“Loser in tug of war, made to be part of the shit seat pair for slowness, you will serve four full days of shitgrade, two with cows, one with hogs, one of our choice, plus three days of beast treatment after.  Now you may speak,” Birches said.

“This unworthy shit turd thanks the Honored Mistresses for their kind attention,” the woman answered quietly.

Sister Cane reached into the jar and pulled out another scrap.  “Bonnie Big Butt,” she announced.  “Not too attractive, not too ugly.  Big butt is right, 165 pounds, 42 years, the lezzie sub of Kris.”

“Loser in the tug of war and slow in shit spreading at the fields.  Obedient, but not impressively so.  Four full days, one with hogs, one with cows, two of our choice, plus two days of beast treatment.  Speak.”

“This unworthy shit turd thanks the Honored Mistresses for their kind attention,” the woman replied.

“Next is Jan, slaveslut of hubby Dave, 35 years old, 132 pounds, firm tits.”

Jan took her place on her knees with head down as Birches read from her notes.

“Winner in tug of war, leader at many exercises, good performance.  But we are wary of true commitment to total obedience.  Three days of shit grade one with hogs, two with cows, with one of those days as beast treatment.”

“This unworthy shit turd thanks the Honored Mistresses for their kind attention,” Jan said quietly.  Those were the first words she had spoken in days.

“Next is Annie, that blubber blonde with the huge thighs and double belly crease.  185 pounds, 41 years old, sub wife of Hank.  On your knees, fat turd.”

Annie knelt beside Jan, breathing hard in fear.

“Thanks to your team, you won in tug of war.  But made to be part of the shit seat pair for slowness, you will serve four full days of shitgrade, two with cows, one with hogs, one of our choice, plus three days of beast treatment after, just like your shit seat partner.”  Birches gave her a swift kick in the ample ass.  “Speak.”

“This unworthy shit turd thanks the Honored Mistresses for their kind attention,” the blonde replied.

“Maureen the young redhead,” Sister Cane called.  “120 pounds, small tight tits, 24 years old, slave to her boyfriend Lenny.”

The small redhead stepped forward and dropped to her knees.  Her long hair fell over her face, revealing a tattoo at the nape of her neck reading ‘Property of Master Lenny’. 

Birches checked her notes.  “Winner with team in tug of war, exceedingly obedient, its slave training shows.  Two days in shit grade, one with cows, one of our choice, excused from beast treatment.”

“This unworthy shit turd thanks the Honored Mistresses for their kind attention,” the redhead smiled.

Sister Flogger glowered down at the girl.  “ A smug little smile?  I don’t recall any Sister giving permission to smile.  Add another day with the cows, with that one and another spent in beast prep.”

Sister Birches jotted in her notes.  “Agreed Sister, agreed.”

Jan began to wonder about this “beast treatment” thing, but she figured it had something to do with the yoked women covered in hair.  Sister Cane pulled one of the last two slips from the jar.

“Julie, a tall brunette 5’10”, 130 pounds, lovely protruding clit, 28 years old,

bisexual subwife of Richard, likes to switch with women.”

       Her long dark hair flowed around her shoulders as she knelt with face to the ground.

       “Generally good performance in obedience, except losing the tug of war.  But we sense that obedience is not as deep as it should be. Therefore, three full days of shit grade one with hogs, two with cows, plus one more day as beast treatment,” Birches read out.

“This unworthy shit turd thanks the Honored Mistresses for their kind attention,” she answered meekly. 

“Last one is Dina, 58 years old, tight firm body, small tits with wonderfully huge nipples, 125 pounds,” Sister Cane announced.  “Hmmm, subslut of her sister Liz and Liz’s husband George.  Forward, granny.”

The older woman joined the kneeling line, her platinum hair shining under the  spotlights on the porch.

“Very obedient, obviously trained, a loser at tug of war, but very game to our demands.  Two full days of shit grade, one with cows, one of our choice, beast treatment for one day.  Speak, granny,”  Birches ordered.

“This unworthy shit turd thanks the Honored Mistresses for their kind attention,” she replied in a voice that was remarkably low for her small size.

Lady Margaret rose to address them once again.  “You now have your assigned days and duties of the shit grades that you are.  Any lapse will result in additional service, not to mention some other unpleasantries.  And of course, you want to know about what we call the beast treatment.   Very well, we will give you a bit of a preview.”  Lady Margaret came around the front of the table, tapping her crop on her thigh as she walked.

“As you all know, each of our Sisters must submit to servitude here for two to three days at least every six months. This is to reinforce the knowledge of true obedience and humility that must be imparted to our trainees.  Usually, this servitude involves being placed among the cunt, slut or slave grades here.  But sometimes a Sister needs some better reminder that additional cruelty for her own pleasure is not necessarily a desired trait here at S.W.A.T.  Accordingly, we have decided that the upcoming servitude for a certain Sister will include three days, two at cunt and one at slut grade, with all three served in beast treatment.”  She turned back to the group seated at the table.  “Sister Cane, you will join me here in front.”

Sister Cane rose and removed the belt holding her canes and then walked around the table to join Lady Margaret in front.

“Sister Cane, we noticed that extra strokes were given to these new shit grades under your watch, many of them seeming to be merely for your pleasure.   Before I pronounce your full sentence, you will strip completely.  You have thirty seconds from now.  Shit grades may kneel up at attention and observe.”

Sister Cane spluttered the beginnings of a protest, but she knew better, and then began pulling the buttons open on her blouse.  She wore a purple skirt that fell to her knees to meet her black low-heeled boots.  The skirt dropped away to reveal nothing underneath it as she reached back to release the heavy straps of the bra that held her heavy breasts.  She tossed the bra aside, pulled the purple scarf from her auburn hair and hurriedly worked at the zipper on her left boot.  When she bent her leg to reach the zipper Jan could see the wide cleft or her shaved pussy with broad flapping labia.  She removed the boot and reached for its mate as Lady Margaret checked her watch.

Five seconds,” she said.  “ Three, two, one, Attention Position One.” 

Cane had tossed the boot on top of her other clothes just as time was up.  She took the required posture, shivering slightly and trying to catch her breath.

“Cane, you are hereby given the following.  Your regular time of servitude will be extra harsh this time, set at three days.  This is due to the excessive number of strokes delivered to these turds, unworthy as they may be.  Further, you will serve all three days in hairy beast treatment with two as cunt, one as slut grade.  And you will spend tonight in the stable with these eight new shit grades and share their morning slops.  Bring out the prep cart!”

Two slaves appeared pushing a cart with a stool sitting on top of it.  One of them was short and fat, in her late forties.  The other was taller and skinny, appearing to be in her mid-thirties.  The both wore short smocks of a gauzy material that hid nothing.  Bits of hair clung to the weave of the fabric, giving the impression of a scraggly fur coat.  Their hands and forearms were caked with hair.  They laid out a canvas tarp and the fat one set the stool down, eying the length of Cane’s crotch.  She spun the seat up to adjust it, then took a dried corncob and fitted it into a hole in the stool’s seat.  Both women took Cane by the arms and brought her over to settle her cunt onto the corncob.

“Your name is taken from you, and we will call you sister caca for the next three days,” Lady Margaret said, reaching into Cane’s hair and examining the roots.  “Hmm, more than a bit of grey in there isn’t it?  Make sure you blend plenty of streaks of grey and white in with the auburn, sluts.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the fat one replied. 

Lady Margaret stepped back and moved away as she spoke.  “You have heard of sending horses to the glue factory.  Yes, that happens, and the glue that is made from the hoofs and bones is excellent for our purposes here.  Of course, here instead of water, we mix it with horse piss that’s been aged in the sun for two or three days to give it a special fragrance, then we brush it on all over.”

The tall woman took a large glass jar and walked along the line of shit grades with the opening just under their noses.  The smell was obvious from several feet away.  Then the two women dipped large rough brushes into the jar and began slathering it all over caca’s body including the face.  The fat one opened various drawers in the cart and brought out several bins filled with varying shades of hair and both women began to sprinkle short lengths of hair all up and down caca’s body. They moved quickly but the fat one was obviously more expert at shaping the pattern of hair and blending plenty of grey in with the darker colors of brown to auburn.

They left the breasts nearly bare but concentrated a thick thatch between them and flowing down over the belly then forming a heavy triangle as they applied more hairs in longer lengths around the crotch and upper thighs.  The tall attendant took a wooden spoon and held one cunt lip back while she applied extra glue inside and then took locks of grey and brown hair, rolling them together to mix them and sticking them tight.  They continued down the legs, each working on one, then trading at a certain point so that both legs would match in varying tones of graying hair.  The calves were treated to an extra heavy coating and then they moved up to the arms and back.  The fat one quickly created a pattern, heavy over the shoulders and down the spine, lighter at the ribcage, then growing heavier as it dropped to the thick waist and hips.  The finale was the butt crack.  They pulled her off the stool and bent her double, covering the entire crotch with a massive amount of grey, brown, black and white hairs, followed by another generous application of the glue to make it stick even better.  They turned her to show the line of kneeling shit grade women then turned her back to display her to the Sisters at the table.

Sister Flogger looked at caca carefully and spoke for the group.  “Excellent job sluts, now do her face.”

“Yes, Mistress,” both attendants answered.  The tall one took a smaller brush and swept the glue in arcs under the eyes and around the mouth, leaving the nose bare.  The fat one expertly sprinkled, pinched and dribbled short lengths of hair in darker tones, then spritzed from a spray bottle and laid greyer hairs over it for further humiliation of  a more aged look.  After that, the fat stylist sprayed more glue onto caca’s hair and squeezed it into ropey locks.  Then she took long coarse strands of white and grey horsehair and attached them to caca’s natural hair, given her face a truly scraggly look.

Lady Margaret had rejoined the group behind the table.  “Behold our newest hairy beast,” she smiled.  “And each of you will undergo this beauty treatment as we assign it.  The itch and scratch is something to look forward to, not to mention that lovely aroma that hangs over our hairy beasts, eh caca?”

“Yes, Honored Sister,” the one now called caca answered. 

Lady Margaret glared at her.  “You will address us as ‘Mistress’ for the next three days, understood?”

“Yes, Honored Mistress,” caca answered meekly.

“And further, you will address all slut and slave grades as ‘Mistress,’ too.  That should provide an additional lesson,” Lady Margaret added.  She picked up a spoon and struck a small bell in front of her.  At once, several sluts arrived with lead ropes for the eight shit grades and a pillory collar for sister caca.  The two hair attendants packed up their equipment and rolled the cart away.

“Slop them at the trough then take them to pigsty number five,” Lady Margaret ordered.   “Make sure they are chained in the wallow and not under the shed, except for caca.  We wouldn’t want her new coat to get too wet tonight in case it rains.”

       They were ordered to their feet as the chains on their collars were hooked into a coffle line. 

       “Goodnight shit turds, sleep tight,” Lady Margaret called as they were marched single file off to the hog pens.

To be continued

       
       

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Eight  – Hog Wild

The line was marched around the big barn and in between two rows of low sheds with roofs that sloped down to about waist height.  They were halted at long bench and table arrangement that was set between the sheds.  It seemed that each of the eight shit grades had a handler beside them, with one of them acting as the leader.  She was a large woman, tall with heavy arms and tits, with her convict number tattoo just as the others had.

       “All right shits, bend over the bench, asses in the air,” she called out to the group.

The line obeyed the command and Jan felt the chicken drumstick being pulled from her ass and the next thing she knew it was waving in front of her face.  “Suck it clean, don’t eat a scrap, just suck them all clean,” came the command.  After sucking the drumsticks clean, Jan saw the handlers greedily eat them, stripping them down to bare bone and then roughly poking them back up each ass hole, giving each an extra twist or shove as they did.  The handlers all laughed at that as they teased and worked at pulling the steak portions from each pussy.  The steaks were savored by each of the handlers, rubbing them up and down the sluts’ faces, under their noses where they could smell the juicy meat and their own juices before the handlers jerked them away and chomped them up.

       Jan’s handler was a fat woman with stringy grey hair pulled back and very bad teeth.  But her teeth were good enough to savor the steak and rip off small chunks that she would hold out to Jan, tempting her to try to grab a bit.  The woman had the convict tattoo but Jan noticed that she was one of several who didn’t have a loincloth, exposing a long thatch of graying hair covering her cunt.  The woman finally gave Jan a tiny bite, then held the rest in her hand, leaning over to whisper in Jan’s ear, her foul breath almost too much to bear. 

       “We’ll save the rest for our piggy friends,” she said in a raspy tone, then smiled.”

       “Dinner’s over, let’s get them to their own piggy dinner, shall we?” the leader asked.  The women were pulled to their feet and marched down to the end of the shed row.  They could smell the pig sty long before they saw it as they were marched to the fence and told to kneel in front of a trough that sat partway out of the fence with the other half behind the pig sty fence.  The group of women convicts they had seen with the yokes and buckets of slop were standing at the side under the floodlight, eyeing the group.  At the leader’s order they came over with their buckets and began to dump them, filling the trough on both sides of the wire divider.

       ‘We like to say the wire is keep you shits from eating too much of the pigs’ slop,” the leader laughed.  “Really, it’s to keep the hogs from biting off a nose or an ear or two.”

At that, a whistle blew and a gate opened as a huge bunch of squealing grunting hogs rushed into the sty and across to the trough and began sucking and swilling at the foul stuff in the trough.  “Just to be sure your get your fill we will remove the pillory collars,” the woman said as the handlers began unfastening the boards that held their necks in place, but leaving the cuffs on their wrists still attached to one half of the collar.

       The noise and smell of the hogs washed over the group of new shit grade sluts as they looked down at the mess in the trough.  To Jan it didn’t look much worse than other stuff they had been forced to eat in the past few days, but it was magnified by the sight, smell and sound of the hogs as they ate.  The level of the slop in the trough was going down as the hogs ate away and the remainder leveled out through the wire divider.

       The handlers stepped to the trough and dangled the morsels of steak in front of the eight famished women, then one by one tossed the meat into the trough for the hogs, who went wild with squealing as they fought each other for those bits.

       “In case you wondered about pigs eating meat, they will eat anything won’t they, number 4012?”  the leader in the loincloth indicated an older woman limping along and herding the pigs with a long switch.

“Come here, and tell us about what the pigs will eat.”  The woman hobbled over to the group.  She was naked except for a heavy iron collar and a wood and leather brace on her bad leg.  “Tell them about your foot, 4012.”

       The woman sighed and looked at her feet.  “I tried to escape and got caught,” she said almost choking with emotion.  “And they put the toes of my left foot through some holes in a board and covered them with molasses.  Then they put the board against the fence with my toes in the pen and let a big boar loose on them.”

       “And he ate them in less than a minute, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Ma’am, he did.” The woman practically sobbed.

       “And what is your punishment since then?”  the leader asked.

       “I am sentenced to 15 years of herding the swine and tending them, naked and in a heavy collar,” the woman said.  “That was five years ago.”

       “You four, get ready for dessert,” the leader yelled at the four women with the buckets.  “They stepped over the kneeling line of shit grades and sat on the edge of the trough, holding their jaws open as another convict came along with a large spoon and dumped a syrupy liquid into each waiting mouth.  “That is a special blend of emetic that is guaranteed to make them all vomit within thirty seconds,” the leader laughed, “so that they can rid of that special dinner of dog food, bean paste with garlic, and oatmeal with pepper sauce and hot Chinese mustard.”

       Sure enough the four women turned and vomited copious amounts of he foulest stuff into the trough and onto the slop that was intended for their meal.  Wonderful, Jan said to herself, and they’ll make us eat every bite, too.  As the four women stepped away the leader spoke.  “Get your heads down into that and eat, now!”

       The eight women knew better than to resist or even hesitate, so they got down into the trough, trying not to gag at the stench of the hogs, the vomit and the slop.  But they also hadn’t been fed all day and they were hungry after the exertion of the running, the tug of war and hauling shit buckets for hours.  Has that all been just today, Jan found herself asking as she tried to avoid the vomit that now covered everything in the trough.

       Dinner was over, they had been re-collared with the pillory boards, and they were herded to an open pen with a single light at the corner.  The gate opened and they were herded into the pen.  Mud squished between their toes, and then came up above their ankles as they entered.   The level of mud and hog shit was at mid-calf in the corner of the pen where they were halted and told to form a circle, then sit.  So here they sat, in mud and shit up to their tits as thunder rumbled.  Jan caught a glimpse of the hairy beast now know as caca being herded into a nearby shed.  The convict cunt herding her was using a light cane on caca’s ass and legs to keep her moving.        

“Sleep tight, shits,” one of the women laughed as they walked off.  The light went out and they were in total darkness.  Then Jan heard the gate swing open, followed by strange sounds.  Soon she realized that they had turned pigs loose in the pen with them.  They rushed in, and over to the group that huddled in the mud wallow, grunting and snorting, snuffling their snouts up and down backs and arms, running back and forth with those horrid squeals.  Jan felt a wet snout along her right breast and she tried to turn away.  They seemed to be younger smaller pigs and probably not a real menace, but the sound of what seemed to be a dozen or more of them running all around them in the darkness was terrifying.

       As the sun rose, the leader with her 52387 tattoo across her belly roused them up.  She was followed by four more of the convict cunts, as Jan had come to call them.  They all had light canes that they used to tap on the wood of the pillory collars before swishing down across nipples and tits.  Jan struggled to her feet along with the seven others.  She was stiff from the cold of the muck in the wallow and flexed her legs.  Her wrists were numb from being held in one position all night.  The leader looked around at the group of mud-covered sluts and nodded to her four assistants who roughly bent each one over and jerked the chicken bone out of each ass where it had been all night.

If your gonna shit, do it now, you have two minutes,” the leader said.  Jan had felt the release of the drumstick up her ass and realized it had been there for hours.  Her intestines suddenly surged and she squatted along with the others as the convict cunts laughed and pointed. The time was up and the cunts grabbed the lead chains on the collars and walked them out of the wallow, using their canes on butts and thighs with every step. Jan followed along with the others to an adjoining shed where they were ordered to kneel, and the collars and wrist cuffs were removed.  Off to the side she saw a circle of seven stools, each with a large dildo mounted on the seat.

“You remember playing musical chairs when you were kids?” the leader asked.

“You know, when the music stops everybody grabs a chair, but we’re always one short.

Well, that’s what we’ll do here this morning, to see who doesn’t eat breakfast.”  Jan almost shrugged, thinking that if she could avoid more food like last night, that would be fine, hungry or not.  “But it’s real food this morning,” the leader continued, as if reading Jan’s thoughts.

       The music came from a speaker as the woman walked around and around the circle of stools.  When the music stopped, they each lunged for a stool, spreading pussy lips and settling onto the seven- inch dildo mounted on each one.  But the curvy brunette with the big tits, the one known as Laurie in another world, lost out.  They pushed her into the center of the circle and the four convict cunts danced around her, taking turns as they struck her from every side with the light canes they carried.

       “Looks like it won’t hurt her to miss a meal or two, “ the leader said to her team.  “The rest of you, I want to see you fuck yourselves on those stools.  Raise up, hold, then sit down hard!” She commanded.  “Higher up on those raises,” she called again, “now SIT!  Hands on your heads, and don’t dare to touch those cunt lips.”

And so it went for two more rounds of musical dildo, as the leader laughingly called it.  At the second round, Dina the older woman lost.  She was bent over the kneeling figure of Laurie in the center of he circle as the four convict cunts laid into her with their switches.  That was followed by Bonnie Big Butt, who was laid over the two women cowering in the center and he four convict counts lashed and caned all three of them as the remaining five had to keep humping, pumping and jumping up and down on the wooden dildos on the stools.  Finally, the leader allowed them to stop and ordered them to line up behind the stools as the pillory collars were removed.  The three losers were brought over to face the five “winners” and made to kneel down in Position Five with faces in the dirt, still wearing their pillory collars. The other five were told to kneel in Position Nine, while holding their tits up by the nipples.

       The leader blew a whistle and a scullery slut came out of the shed with a platter heaped with steaming scrambled eggs and aromatic sausages.  Jan’s stomach growled with hunger and she salivated at the mere sight of the platter.  The leader nodded and the slut began to spoon eggs and sausage onto the ground in front of each of the women pinching their own tits.

       “Before you eat, we need to season the food, don’t we?”  the leader asked, walking down the line and casually kicking dirt over the food in front of each.  “Noses down, Position Five, wait for my command to eat,” she said as the five complied.  Jan tried to control herself as he nose was barely inches form the pile of eggs and sausage, even though it was covered in a thin film of dist and grit, it was actual food.

       “Rub your noses in it first,” the leader taunted them, “no tongues or teeth!”  She paced back and forth in front of them, still kicking some dirt over the food and the faces of the sluts who knelt there.  Finally, she sneered. “Eat! In ten seconds we let the hogs in!”

       The women all dug into eating the food, dirt and all, as fast as they could, even as Jan heard the gate swing open and a dozen squealing half-grown pigs came scrabbling toward the food they managed to gobble as the hogs came up to the line of shit grades, just beginning their first day of life among the hogs.

       

       

       “In case you wondered about pigs eating meat, they will eat anything won’t they, number 4012?”  Sister Flogger indicated an older woman limping along and herding the

pigs with a long switch.  “Come here, and tell us about what the pigs will eat.”  The woman hobbled over to the group.  She was naked except for a heavy iron collar and a wood and leather brace on her bad leg.  “Tell them about your foot, 4012.”

       The woman sighed and looked at her feet.  “I tried to escape and got caught,” she said almost choking with emotion.  “And they put the toes of my left foot through some holes in a board and covered them with molasses.  Then they put the board against the fence with my toes in the pen and let a big boar loose on them.”

       “And he ate them in less than a minute, didn’t he?”  Flogger chimed in.

       

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Nine  – Burdens and Beasts

       Jan shook her head, trying to clear the sweat that dripped into her eyes.  She stood with her neck bent over in the heavy wooden yoke as she leaned into it with her shoulders.  Next to her she could feel Julie, the one she most closely matched up with, straining at the yoke in equal measure.  They were pulling a tree trunk across a broad meadow from the forested high ground where they had been sent that morning.  The yoke was heavy with leather pads over the shoulders and a stout steel ring hanging below the throat of each “shitbeast” as they were called.  A coarse rope was tied to the ring, running down between the tits and through the crotch.  A special addition assured that the rope would rub and chafe the slit as much as possible.  That was done by a twisted twine that attached to the top of the yoke, running down the backbone, and secured to the pull rope to snug it up tight against the cunt and ass.

       The end of each beast’s rope was tied to a chain wrapped around the log they were dragging back to the barnyard.  Jan couldn’t really see where they were going since a blinder bonnet was fitted around her head and down the cheekbones to cut off all but front vision.  And vision was restricted even more by a leather strap from the center of the bonnet to the yoke rope that pulled the head down and hunched the shoulders for more pulling power.  Jan’s hands were rendered useless by her wrists being strapped into leather cuffs at the bottom of the yoke, but she found herself pushing at the yoke with her arms to help them along.  A convict cunt walked behind them using a long willow switch on their raw asses to keep them moving as they dragged the heavy log with branches still attached.

       Three days had passed since Jan and the others had been brought to the barnyard.  She had endured the day in the pigsty, trying to avoid the hogs and their rooting and squealing even as she and the others struggled to scrape and load the pig shit that they were assigned to remove.  They had been ordered to clean the shit from the large pigsty  and load it into two-wheeled carts for transport to the fields as fertilizer.  Of course their cleaning implements consisted of tin cans to scoop with and a crude bib of burlap tied around the neck and hung between the tits.  They were expected to kneel in the shit while holding the burlap open and scraping up the foul hog shit one soup can at a time.   When one of the convict cunts supervising the pigsty felt that a shitslave’s bib was sufficiently full, she was allowed to carry it to the cart and dump it.  Of course, when compared with a lowly shitslave, hog shit is a precious substance.  So each one was expected to carry her bundle of shit with wrists on top of her head so that the nose and lips would have full contact with the mass of shit that she carried.

       Once the first cart was filled, sister caca was brought out wearing a leather collar and harness and hitched to the cart.  The coarse multi-colored hair that coated her body was already matted with sweat as they harnessed her up and a skinny convict cunt used a crop on her ass and thighs as she strained to pull the cart away and up the path to the fields beyond.

       The next day Jan and some of the others had been moved to the cow corrals, though Laurie and Annie, the two fattest ones, had been sent to the dairy barn where they were used as milk-cow toilets, as their tormentors, the convict cunts liked to call them.  They were given five gallon buckets and told the catch shit from cows in the milking barn.  When a cow raised her tail one of them was expected to approach behind the cow, being careful not to get kicked, and kneel with tits hanging over the bucket rim to catch the runny almost liquid shit that dairy cattle seemed to be excreting often while in the barn.  Jan and the others had been marched through the barn on their way to the corrals where they had spent yet another day in scraping and loading shit, then hauling it to a large wagon that was pulled by a tractor.  But the methods devised for them to transfer all that shit was yet another humiliation that even the most obedient slut had been likely to think of.  They were paired off, Jan with Julie since they were a physical match, and shown a metal tub about two feet in diameter with ropes attached to it.  They were expected to kneel in the mud and shit of the corral and scoop cowshit into the tub with their hands.  When it was full, they had to remain on all fours by the tub and make mooing noises to attract the supervisor.  A convict cunt would inspect the tub to be sure it was full enough and if it was then one of the pair would be told to remain in position while the other lifted the tub onto the back of her partner.  The ropes would be secured across the belly and tits of the one on all fours, then her partner would lift her ankles and pull her legs out straight to make a “wheelbarrow” of her. 

       Jan had been chosen to be the “wheelbarrow” first, trying to keep up as she walked on her hands with legs held high and straight by Julie who was trying to move fast enough to avoid the sting of canes and whips as she guided her wheelbarrow across he corral.  Jan’s hand had slipped once, sending her sliding down onto a slippery pile of fresh shit.  She had turned her head in time to keep her face out of it, but ended up smearing her chest all over with it.  Julie had yanked hard one her legs to avoid spilling the tub strapped to her back, but not before one of the convict cunts had come at both of them with a horsewhip, raining at least a six or seven slashing blows on Jan’s hips and thighs.  When they reached the large wagon, the ropes were released and the two were told to empty it, not by dumping it over the side but by scooping all the shit out by hand once more.

       “Make a trip over here without falling or getting extra strokes and we’ll let you dump it in there,” one of the convict cunts laughed at them as they pulled double handfuls of cowshit from the tub and tossed it into the wagon.  “Maybe if you’re too slow you’ll get to walk behind the spreader up in the meadow.”  Jan looked at the rear of the wagon where two large shafts with fan-like blades on them would turn and spread the manure over a field.  She thought about being forced to walk behind that machine as it spewed tons of shit and shuddered a bit, even after everything else she’d been made to do in the past days.

       The second day among the cows had been less nasty with the shitgrades being taken to the pastures where they had to gather shit from grazing animals and collect it in burlap bags tied around their waists and dragging between the legs as they walked.  They were also made to “walk” with the head below the level of the ass at all times to add to the humiliation if not the discomfort.  As they were marched back to the barnyard at sunset wearing the hated pillory collars and still dragging the bags of shit they had collected, they saw the tractor pulling the manure spreader wagon across an adjoining pasture with a solitary figure stumbling behind it.  Her arms were spread wide, tied to a pole that was chained to the back of the spreader.  Her head was in a leather harness held back and high with a strap that went down and attached to the ring in a large butt plug so that the flying chunks of cow shit caught her full in the face and tits as she struggled to keep up.  The sweat streaks on her hairy skin showed her to be poor sister caca on her third day as a hairy beast.

       Now at the mid point of her fourth day as a shitgrade slut, Jan recalled the night before when sister caca had been brought back from following the shit spreader and left with them in the stalls of the barn.  She had been ordered to crawl to each of the shitgrades in the stall and beg to worship each and every ass.  Jan remembered relishing the feel of caca’s tongue across her sore asshole, shoving back against it as it darted in and out of her, knowing how hard she had been as Sister Cane, but also knowing that soon she would be returning to the Sisterhood while Jan would be doing who knew what.

The previous night they had been put into pillory collars and left in an open corral, especially since it looked like rain was in the forecast.  As usual, they had all been butt-plugged so that they could only shit on command, but they were instructed to use the far corner to pee at any time they wished, so long as they used the piss slut that had been chained there.

       “Be sure  it says ‘thank you mistress’ after you piss on it,” the leader had instructed them.  The far corner was in a low-lying area so that any runoff would collect there. Through the darkness Jan could just make out the hairy form of caca, shivering where she had been collared and chained on her back with knees pulled up and tied to the wrist cuffs of the pillory collar.  It had been truly gratifying for each of the eight shitgrades to make their way through the muck to the corner, then to squat and listen to the splash of urine streams over the face and tits of sister caca, then as they stepped away to hear her quietly say “Thank you mistress, for your gift of piss.”  Jan thought about that moment again as she shoved her butt back against caca’s tongue rasping at her asshole.

       Shortly after caca had serviced every ass, and as they were expecting the lights to be turned out, they heard the squeaky wheels of a cart outside the stall and saw the two women with hairs stuck all over their faces, arms and smocks.  A convict cunt came into the stall and grabbed Jan and Julie, standing them up and herding them to the door of the stall.  They followed the cart into a center area of he barn where mosquitoes and other flying bugs gathered around and under a bare bulb.  Jan saw that Marianne and Bonnie big Butt had also been brought out of the stall and knew that all four of them soon would be getting the hairy beast treatment.

       Jan couldn’t decide which was worse – the constant itch and scratch or the stink of the horse piss based glue used to adhere the hairs all over her body.  The pair who prepped the hairy beasts had taken full advantage of these sluts who hadn’t shaved for weeks, using the hair already growing as a base for obscene locks attached to twats and dangling from butt cracks.  Jan’s belly featured a series of V-shaped lines of hair in varying shades of brown that spread up and around her tits, disappearing under her arms in a tangled mass of locks that had been glued to the dark hair growing from her unshaven pits.  Her ass cheeks felt nearly bare, the better to feel the rod and the whip, she’d been told and the biggest comfort she had from the itchy treatment was the extra cushion provided by the locks glued to her labia as they rubbed against the rough fibers of the rope through her crotch.  The backs of her thighs and calves itched the worst she thought, especially the thighs.  And just about the time she had gotten used to the feel of the rope against her slit and clit, the convict cunt driving them would stop them, peel their pussy lips wide open and wedge the rope right up between them, securing it with another twist of the twine that would pull the rope nice and tight across the raw opening of a welted ass.

       Jan was brought back to the moment as the switch fell across her shoulders, goading them to keep moving as they dragged the felled tree back to the barnyard.  She had managed to sneak a sideways look at Julie, her partner in the yoke, as she struggled with Jan to keep the pace.  Earlier in the day she had caught a glimpse of Marianne and Bonnie, two larger women, who were pulling a plow through a field alongside the path to the forest. Those two were each fastened with a “tit collar,” a heavy two-piece wooden plank with holes for the tits and wrists locked within it and a depression at the top for the neck, held with a thick leather collar buckled at the back.  Each collar had rings and chains from the ends that hooked to the plow.  The collars kept the arms pulled back and the tits sticking out.  Each had also been nipple-pierced with copper bells attached so they jingled with every move as the leaned into the collars and stumbled over the rough soil, pulling the plow along.

       Jan’s nipples twinged as she leaned into the collar for the last push as the main barnyard came into view.  How long until they decide to pierce my tits or clit she wondered, as the willow switch cut across her thighs and she stepped up her pace, feeling Julie pull alongside her.

To be continued…

Author’s note:

After some delay, I am adding a chapter to this story, with more action to follow in the very near future. I first began posting these chapters last July and my personal goal is to complete the story by then.  I want to thank all of you for your kind comments and reviews, especially those lost in the crash last December, but also to those of you who have sent kind e-mails, comments and suggestions to my e-mail address, scribbler59@yahoo.com.  If you have any comments, suggestions or requests, please feel free to send them along.  Enjoy, and remember that this is fiction.  Jack R

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Ten  – Bells and Whistles

       Jan’s husband Dave eased into the chair at his computer desk and opened the latest email file.  As it loaded, he thought back over the previous three he had received.  The first had been almost shocking; with Jan so smeared with dirt and shit that she was almost unrecognizable.  But the second had been a real turn-on as he watched the eight sluts being put through their paces in exercises, drills and the dreaded sundial treatment.

He had been proud of Jan’s leadership in the tug-of-war and seeing her kneel before the Sisters in the pillory collar gave him a raging hard-on.

       The latest clip showed quick scenes from the hog pen and the cattle corral along with shots of the cleanup in the cow pastures.  The main part of the clip showed Jan in harness with the “hairy beast” treatment covering her body, pulling and struggling as part of a yoked pair.  It ended with Jan and her partner being unhitched from the harness and collar, then ordered to The Fence, where they were to bend and wait for the Daily Double Dozen.  At that point a large woman, who had called herself ‘Sister Flogger’ in previous clips, came into view and began giving each ass a rhythmic and none-too-gentle flogging as the two women held position bend over the rough rail fence.  Sister Flogger completed the two-dozen strokes on each and stepped back.

       “Now up on the rail for a ride,” she ordered.  The two women stood and climbed onto the top rail of the fence.  Dave could see that it was split from a larger log, leaving a sharp edge on top.  Their feet rested on the lower rail of the fence until Sister Flogger ordered them to kick their legs out.  Dave watched as the two complied, their faces showing the discomfort as their entire weight pressed down on their pussy lips and into the slits with their legs extended out.  They both extended their arms for balance and Dave could see Jan gritting her teeth through the pain.

       “Giddy-up, gash!” Flogger called out. “Let’s see that gallop!”  The two women began to rock back and forth, as though in a saddle at the gallop as Flogger swung her instrument across their tits and torsos.

“Faster, faster,” she teased with the lash.  After a minute or so she stepped aside and allowed them to stop and place their feet back onto the rail, but they were told to keep their arms extended.  Sister Flogger stepped into the frame and looked straight at the camera.

“If they keep showing proper progress we should have another update in two or three days, along with an invitation to join us for some in-person fun.  Until then, Masters.”  The screen froze on Sister Flogger’s devious smile and Dave closed the file to place it with the other updates he had received.

       Jan woke as she felt a foot against the back of her thighs. She roused herself off the concrete floor and immediately moved to a kneeling position beside the cot where one of the convict cunts had slept.  Jan stared into the open legs and lips as the convict cunt tapped her on the head.

       “Get busy with a wakeup for me,” the woman ordered.

       “Yes, Ma’am, thank you Ma’am” Jan answered as she burrowed her nose into the crotch, coming back up with her tongue working hard and deep as the woman pulled her lips open and shoved against Jan’s face.

       “Deeper, cunt, and faster,” the woman ordered, still pushing hard.

       “Yes, Ma’am, thank you Ma’am” Jan’s words were muffled as she continued servicing the woman but still made sure to respond quickly and correctly. 

“Never too busy eating cunt or sucking cock to give the proper acknowledgment,” they had been lectured as the group of shitgrades was promoted to “cunt grade.”  Actually only five of the original eight had made it by this day.  Poor chubby Laurie with her curvy figure, huge tits and long dark hair had been held behind for an extra day or two of training in the cow and hog pens.  It seemed that she had been less than properly enthusiastic at pussy eating so she had been sentenced to “eat cow pussy,” perhaps even a sow or two, until she showed some progress and willingness to please.  She would be passed and shuffled from one convict cunt to another, grabbing her by the hair and shoving her face against animal after animal hour after hour, in between “checkups” between the legs of her handlers to see what sort of progress she might be making.

Annie and Bonnie, the two fatties, still had another day of the hairy beast treatment to endure.  In the meantime, the other five had been “given” to the convict cunts in their rough barracks alongside the barns and corrals. Jan worked her tongue up and down the hairy slit, darting back and forth and around the protruding clit as the convict shoved against her lips, digging hands into Jan’s hair and yanking her head up and down as Jan slurped away.

“Got visitors coming today, and you will get to entertain them cunt,” the woman said as she pulled Jan’s head back then slammed it hard into her crack, forcing Jan’s nose deep into her pussy.  “So finish me off quick,” the convict cunt demanded, kicking into Jan’s back as she pulled at her hair.

Had she been here for a week, or did it seem longer, Jan wondered to herself as she and the other four were lined up over The Fence for the usual morning strokes.  Time was a blur to her now, days were measured by the humiliations received since she and the others had arrived.  She held position over The Fence, wondering how long it would be today before one or another of the Tough Sisters would come by to deliver the morning beating, or would they be left in the care of one or more of the convict cunts, who at least were usually not so fast and furious with their strokes.

She had felt so many strokes, and from so many different implements from so many people that they had begun to fuse from one to another.  But the single session that stuck in her mind, and not just because it was more recent, was the depilating process from the “hairy beast” treatment.  She had been sentenced to one day as a hairy beast, but soon realized that another day or more might be likely since she was not allowed to speak and thus had no way to beg to be cleaned of the itchy, smelly hair.  Some of it had rubbed off from the chafing of the harness and collars she had worn, but most of it had stubbornly remained in place despite the pulling and tugging, the poundings and paddlings received at least three times a day, morning noon and night.  Finally, after a morning session of hard exercise and eighteen strokes from a heavy strap, Sister Flogger had ordered her and Julie and Dina the older woman to report to the small shed behind the barn.

In the shed were stalls with yoke fittings for necks and arms.  Maureen the small redhead knelt there with a bucket and sponge.  The two women who had applied all that hair locked each hairy beast into a yoke and cuffed their wrists straight out.  The older woman gave Maureen a swift kick and she approached them with her bucket and sponge.  Even through her own stench, Jan could smell a strong acidic odor from the steaming bucket that Maureen carried as Jan felt the astringent burn from the first touch of the sponge across her back and down her legs.   The solvent in the bucket went right to work on the matted hair, but it was agony on the skin.  Jan had thought the top layer might be coming off with the stinking hair.

The two women laughed and giggled as the sluts squirmed and moaned through the burning irritation of the solvent, especially when Maureen started slavering it over their tits and around their necks and armpits.  Then came the brushes.  The two women continued talking as thought the three sluts weren’t even there as they donned heavy rubber gloves and used huge rough-bristled brushes to scrub the hair away, followed by another application of another solvent that burned just as much as the first one.

Then came the water.  It was freezing cold and the hoses had high pressure nozzles that the handlers turned from needle-like points to a brutal pounding and they moved across the three bodies, running the hoses up and down the thighs, armpits, tits, everywhere.  Jan stomped and danced with her legs until the older woman leaned into her ear as she shoved the hose right up to Jan’s cunt.

“Stand still or I’ll make it worse,” she snarled.

Jan wasn’t sure what “worse” might be, but she calmed down and struggled to hold position, gradually realizing that even the chill and pain of the water was at least getting her clean and washing away the burn of the solvents.  They were left in the yokes, shivering with teeth chattering, until they had dried in the morning air.

Jan’s mind came back to The Fence where she still waited, bent over for the morning treatment.  Sometimes they were left there for some time to wonder and anticipate what form or degree of pain they would receive.  Then she recognized the familiar walk of Sister Crop, accompanied by the incessant sound of her implement of choice tapping against her boot.  Crop didn’t bother with the slightest word or phrase, she just started down the line of five upturned asses, slashing and smacking as she moved, up and down the line, five strokes to each, two on the right cheek, two on the left, one down the center to the asshole.

When she had made her first pass she came back for another, with eight strokes each this time.  She placed two on each upper thigh at the crease of the butt cheek, one on each inner thigh near the crotch, and then two vicious cuts, one over and one underhand, right to the pussy.

“That should warm you up for entertaining our guests today,” Crop giggled, stepping back to admire her work on the five asses.  “Now be sure not to disappoint anyone, and the three that are deemed to be the best will get a treat later.”  She walked away as Jan heard vehicles approaching.

The “visitors” turned out to be three truckers who were picking up hogs and cattle to haul to market.  Jan glanced under the fence rail at them as they pulled up, trying to get a quick look at who, or what was arriving.  One was tall and thin, bald head and glasses with a red bandanna headband.  Another was a typical trucker, burly shoulders, beer gut belly, feed store hat and big boots.  The third one was a tall woman in jeans and a tank top with no bra, her huge tits swaying as she stepped down from the cab, followed by two black Labs who bounded over each other as they leaped from the truck and ran over to the fence rail where Jan and the four others were collared and bent over. 

Jan felt the wet tongue of one of the dogs slurping at her pussy and ass as he snarled at the other one who moved over to Maureen’s hairy red pussy sticking up at the top of the fence rail, burying his nose deep in her folds.  The woman stood between them, yanking them by the collars and rubbing up against Dina’s crotch with her knee.  The man with the red bandana went right for the broad ass of Marianne, unzipping his jeans and reaching into a can of lard hanging from the fence.  He rubbed Marianne’s ass with some lard, then drove straight into her, burying his skinny dick all the way into her ass as she squealed and squirmed and he pumped away.

The big guy pinched and pulled at Julie’s cunt lips, peeling them open, tucking and sticking his stubby thumbs inside before working a large middle finger into her ass, furiously pumping it and hooking his fingers in and out of her.  Finally he took down his pants and pulled her to him, a thick hairy dick stuffed up her cunt, huffing and puffing as he pounded into her.  He came quickly, grunting and coughing as he did.  It was then that Jan realized he was the first man she had seen in a week.  About then, the dog was pulled away from her and she felt two fingers being shoved into her pussy and a thumb worming into her ass.  Jan pushed back against the grip of the fingers, trying to catch a glimpse of whom they belonged to.

“Gonna let my dogs have some fun before my fist does,” the woman whispered to Jan, hooking her fingers up high and hard, then gripping hard toward her thumb.  Then she pulled her hand out and set one of the dogs on Jan.  Jan felt his forepaws on her shoulders with his slobber rolling down her back as the tall dyke guided the red dick into her.  The dog pounded into her, faster and faster as Jan noticed the woman standing in front of her, jeans down, and hairy pussy zeroing in on Jan’s face.  Jan felt the dyke take the dog’s front legs and pull him toward her, shoving him even further and harder into Jan as he continued to ram her twat.  The woman took a handful of Jan’s hair and jerked her head into the matted mass of hair, Jan smelling sweat and stench as her nose was dragged up and down the dyke’s flabby lips.

“Work the tongue for me, girlie,” the woman snarled, “get it up in there and make me happy.”  Jan’s tongue replied in automatic obedience, almost as a reflex, showing her training’s effect.  She could feel the dyke’s clit swell as her tongue circled it one way then another, slipping up and around and back down to come back up the slit and circle once again.   The woman pressed harder and yanked Jan’s head closer into her and the dog was howling and barking as he came. 

“Bark for me bitch!” the dyke growled, “bark like the dogshit bitch you are.”

Jan’s responding bark was muffled by her mouth buried inn the stinking hairy pussy, but the dyke seemed to enjoy it as she continued yanking Jan back and forth by the hair and the dog collapsed against Jan’s hips, drooling down her back as Jan felt his knot pressing into her and his cum slowly sliding down her thigh.

       Late afternoon found Jan, Marianne and Maureen kneeling in the shade near the barnyard, each holding a tray of cools drinks and fresh fruit as Sisters Flogger and Crop joined Lady Margaret in chaise lounges and watched the entertainment provided by the convict cunts.  The three sluts each knelt with hips on heels, backs straight, tits placed on the edge of each silver tray so that nipples were easily tweaked as a domme reached for a grape or a slice of peach or pear.  Jan tried not to drool as the sweet scents of the fruit wafted over her.  Flogger sensed Jan’s hunger and delighted in rubbing a cut strawberry across Jan’s nostrils and lips before gulping it down.  The Lady Margaret took a peach slice, dripping with juice, and stuffed it into Marianne’s gaping cunt, instructing her to hold it in there to attract any bugs away from the Sisters, to the giggled delight of Crop and Flogger.

       Julie and Dina had come out lowest in the preference poll of the three truckers in the morning so they were in the sun on a square platform of dark-stained wood.  Each was strapped to a waist-high T-shaped post with ankles cuffed to floor rings at a spread width.  Spring-type mousetraps were attached to each nipple, then each was attached to the partner’s opposite nipple with a nylon string.  Two convict cunts held each one upright as another tightened the strings between the two.   The cunt that did the tying up instructed the pair.

       “You two gave our guests the least pleasure this morning so now you get to entertain us this afternoon.  Your task is simple.  Just be the first one to pull the traps off the other’s nipples.  It will be a best three out of five.  So when I say ‘Go,’ you only have to lean back and pull.  It’s easy,” she laughed, joined by the others and the three Sisters in the cool comfort of the shade.

       The big woman stepped to the side, and said, “Ready, Slut, Go!”  Dina reared back quickly, pulling the trap off Julie’s right nipple, but Julie rolled to the side, yanking Dina’s right nipple trap free, but pulling the trap off her own nipple as she flung herself sideways.  The big woman in the center blew a whistle.

       “Foul!” she shouted.  “It doesn’t count if you lose yours in the process.  Snap ‘em back on.”  The two others scurried over to grab the traps, pulling them open an inch or so before slapping up under Dina’s small tit with the large berry-like nipple before letting go of the spring.  Then they did the same to Julie, taking her nipples and pinch-rolling them back and forth, lifting up her firm breasts, tugging and pulling, then snapping the trap on tight as Julie yelped with the sudden pain.

       The big woman stepped to the side once more, allowing better view for the group of Sisters in the shade and then blew the whistle.  Dina jerked back quickly and yanked the two traps right off Julie’s tits.  This time the cunts pulled the springs back even further before letting them snap shut onto Julie’s quivering tits.  One of them flicked a thumb and finger across the nipples for a little extra discomfort before stepping back and waiting for the whistle.  This time Julie lunged backward, pulling one free, then rearing back again and getting the other one loose.

       “One each, cuntwhores,” the big woman announced, nodding to her two assistants to re-set the traps, this time snapping down harder on Dina’s swollen nipples.  “Shorten the strings,” the woman ordered, and watched as the two were pulled in even closer to each other before the whistle.  Dina won the next round, but Julie managed to pull off the next one, leaving them tied at two each.  For the final round, the strings were shortened even more so that the two sets of traps were nearly touching each other.  The big convict cunt stood between them with a short crop in each hand, flicking at the captive nipples as each woman tried to calm her breathing, between the pressure of the trap springs and the jolts of the crop slapping at them.

       “When I bring these down on those fat red nipples, you pull your best,” she said, flicking her twin crops again.  “Ready, cunts, GO!” she yelled as she brought the two crops down hard across the bruised and swelling nipples.

       Both women lunged backward as fast and far as possible given the short tie between the sets of traps.  Jan watched and thought that Julie, with her youth and superior muscle tone would be quicker.  But Dina’s large nipples seemed to hold better around the trap springs, and though Jan winced at the idea of pain they would be causing, she saw Dina thrust herself back again and pull both traps clear of Julie’s tits.

       “Ah, the old bitch wins!” announced the convict cunt as the Sisters applauded the entertainment.  Flogger reached over and gave Jan’s left nipple a hard squeeze.

       “Maybe we should play mousetrap later,” she cooed into Jan’s ear, pulling sharply then releasing her with a slap, then turned her attention back to the entertainment.  “Sisters, what do we use as a reward for the winner of this little diversion?” she asked.

       “As the winner, that one may service the scullery latrine for the next three nights,” Lady Margaret announced.  “And the loser will service the barnyard bitches’ latrine for the next three nights.  Day work for both will be in the kennels.   Now, what else have you old cunts cooked up for us?” 

       The large convict cunt approached the three Sisters lounging in the shade, smiling broadly. 

       “We have some musical entertainment for you, honored Mistresses, and though I can’t vouch for the quality of their music, they are certainly entertaining,” she said with a laugh.  She turned and picked up a whistle from a side and table and blew it sharply.  “Bring out our fatty trio,” she called.

       In a few moments, the telltale ring of the copper bells in their tits announced the approach of the three largest women of the slave eight.  Annie and Bonnie, the two fattest ones led the way, yoked with a heavy beam across it.  The beam kept the necks down and their pendulous breasts swinging with the weight of the bells clanging on them.  Laurie followed behind them, her neck pulled down by lead ropes from the collars of the lead two that were pulled between the tits, through each crotch and attached to Laurie’s heavy wooden pillory collar.  Two convict cunts drove them along with long canes, pulling them to a stop before the Sisters lounging the shade.

       “What have we here?” Lady Margaret asked.
       “My I present the Fatty Trio!”  The large convict woman answered.  “Present them!”  The two convict cunts driving the trio quickly moved to them and removed the heavy wooden beam from the yoke and placed it on the ground.  Then they pulled the yoked pair to the beam, pulling them so that they knelt upon it, facing away from the Sisters.  Laurie was brought into the same position.  Then the three were pushed down by the neck and left kneeling on the beam nearly foot-thick beam with their broad asses displayed high and wide.

       “They have all been cleaned by triple enema passes and are ready to perform,” one of the other women announced.  Then they opened a bag hey carried and displayed various items.  There was selection of hand and foot air pumps and various strange tubular objects.  Two of the convict cunts took a hand pump each and another grabbed a foot pump with a bright yellow bellows on it and immediately inserted them in the puckered assholes kneeling before them>

       “We use the lightweight pumps so there won’t be any permanent damage, and it helps them to develop better tones,” one of the women laughed as she pumped away.

       After few more pumps and squeezes, the pumps were removed and the women selected their ‘instruments’ for the performance.  “These are cheap little tin flutes and slide whistles,” one of them explained, but they make the most amazing sounds.

       The women inserted two or more of the instruments into each fat ass and stepped back.  The large convict cunt took a cane and stepped up to them, facing the Sisters.  “I will conduct this little trio for your enjoyment, Honored Mistresses,” she said, tapping the butt cracks of each of the trio.  “Now, on my count let’s hear some music.”

       She swatted each ass in quick succession as the fat women flexed themselves to expel the air and make their so-called music.  The squawks and squeaks made a grotesque sound but even Jan had to admit that the scene was hilarious as she sneaked a glance at the trio of fat butts gyrating and squeezing to make some sounds.

       The trio of Sisters applauded and demanded and encore and waited for another pumping up as Sister Flogger turned her attention back to Jan’s nipples.

To be continued…

       

SUBMISSIVE WIVES ACADEMY OF TRAINING

Chapter Eleven  – 

       Jan heard the siren wail as the wake up alarm and jumped to her feet, automatically coming to attention in Position One with head back, eyes closed, hands clasped behind the neck, legs straight and spread with backbone stiff so her tits jutted out.  She held position in the semi-darkness of the slut kennels where she could barely make out the shapes of other sluts also coming to attention as they rose from the matted and moldy straw that covered the concrete floor.  The large shadows moving through the open space of the cell told her that the guards were on the prowl for any slut not already in position, their night vision goggles allowing them to see what the sluts could not.

       The sounds of crops on bare flesh announced that some slut hadn’t assumed the proper position in time.  Jan squinted her eyes in the the dim light and saw two large shadows taking turns swinging away at a bent figure’s upturned rump.

       “Should know by now,” Jan said to herself, steeling herself for the “morning greetings” as the guards liked to call them.  The screeching siren died away as banks of  harsh fluorescent lights came on, revealing nearly two dozen naked sluts standing in two facing rows.  The six guards had removed their goggles and casually roamed back and forth, in front of and behind the two rows, toying and playing with crops and canes against waiting butts and nipples.  Occasionally, a whoosh of air was followed by a the snap of the cane or a crop connecting with ass or tit flesh, immediately followed by a loud “Good Morning, Ma’am, this slut thanks you for the greeting.”  The sound of implements swinging and sluts greeting became more frequent, then overlapping as the six guards began moving faster and faster along and behind the lines.

       A whistle blew and the morning greeting beatings stopped immediately. 

       “Outside, now!” came the command as all twenty-four sluts rushed for the three small hatches that allowed them entrance and exit.  The hatches were each at the end of a shallow metal trough and the sluts hurried to crawl along it and avoid the slashing crops and straps as much as they could.  Sometimes the troughs were “lubed up,” with the contents of the night latrine buckets to make them smelly and slippery.   The trough was dry this morning as Jan crawled along banging her face against the broad ass in front of her.  The slut in front was in turn shoving against the ass in front of her in a strange parade that always got a laugh or two from the guards as they encouraged the sluts through the troughs and out into the yard.

       They emerged onto the hard packed earth of the yard, struggling to their feet after squeezing through the low hatch, hearing a guard’s repeated command to “Circle, CIRCLE!” as they rushed to a series of low posts set in a circular pattern.  Each post was about knee high with a short rail on top to form a small T.  Each slut quickly took up Position One at a post with her shins touching the top bar.  They stood there, shivering in the slight chill of early morning, each knowing how hot it would get as the sun came out.

       “Backs straight, bend over and spread ass!” came the command.  Each slut bent over with her back straight and parallel to the ground while reaching back to spread the ass cheeks.

       Jan pulled her cheeks wide and quickly inserted a middle finger in her ass, loosening it up a bit before the guards came along with the cart carrying what Jan had some to call the ‘Sunrise Surprise.’  The sluts never knew what they might be receiving each morning; sometimes it was an icy blast of compressed air across the clit and cunt, or a quick injection of hot or cold water that felt like being hit with a sledge hammer.  One morning might bring a brush full of hot pepper oil or a dried corncob butt plug that may have been soaked overnight in any one of a bunch of nasty liquids from lemon juice and vinegar to a sugar syrup coating that was rolled in sand before insertion.  Jan smelled the heavy musk of bitch dogs in heat being applied to the heaving flanks of the pudgy slut next to her, knowing that the slut had been sent to the kennels for the last few days.

       But the sunrise surprise that Jan dreaded most was what the guards called the ‘day slops.’  It was a daytime application of contents from the ‘night slops,’ also known as the “slutbucket,” the latrine from the slut kennel.  Sometimes the guards would have two shitslaves bring the latrine bucket from their own bunkhouse and place it in the center of the circle where the shitslaves would kneel and use their own hair to stir the mixtures of the buckets before applying it to assigned slut bodies.  Jan had been ‘day slopped’ two days in a row, and hoped this wouldn’t be a third.  She knew the slimy stench of turds softened into a paste that was slathered across her back and ass and down her thighs with by the ‘mop’ of the shitslave’s hair, then the slave was brought around to Jan’s head to wring out the mop over her face and hair. 

       The previous day, after receiving the day slop treatment, Jan and another slut were cuffed and collared with a twelve-inch chain between cuffs and another twelve-inch chain connecting to the front of the collar.  They were then herded with a crop out to the wide lawn below the expansive residence of the Sisters and Ladies.  They were told to kneel at a broad flagstone walk leading to the formal gardens below.  Jan could smell the lovely fragrance of new-mown grass and see the smooth carpet of  lawn.  They were each given a small paintbrush and told to clean the walk.  The lawn mowing had left small blades of grass across the walk and they were expected to brush it clean.  And since their dirty, shitty legs were not allowed to touch the walk, they were to remain on their feet and bend in a quite uncomfortable crouching squat in order to reach the walk with the brush.  The day before that, they had been led to a stone wall that extended for a hundred yards or so along edge of the gardens.  They had each been given a worn pair of scissors and told to trim the grass that the mower couldn’t reach at the edges of the wall.  At least on that day they could crawl on knees or squat on their haunches as they worked. 

       But on neither of the two days could they reach the irritating buzz of flies and other insects that hovered and landed on their backsides.  Between the stench, the sting of sweat on recent welts and the constant ‘bath of bugs,’ as Lady Margaret had called it as she rode by them with her body slaves following along; it was a truly miserable way to spend the day.  They had been given a water break two or three times, Jan wasn’t quite sure, but no food.  Jan had been able to pee carefully as she sidled along the stone wall on one day, but on the next she had no such opportunity.  The slut guards seemed to know that as well, and they made sure that the two sluts had a water break every hour, each forced to drink from a metal pan set on the other’s back to be reached a bit more easily, and thus more water consumed and with no opportunity for relief.

       All through her various ordeals, Jan thought she would go crazy with the incessant jingle of the two pairs of silver bells that hung from her recent nipple piercing.  The barbell studs protruded from either side of the nipples with the bells hanging freely from them so that the lightest motion would make them jingle.  Sister Flogger had taken great pleasure in supervising Jan’s piercing three days ago.  At least Jan thought it was three days.  It was very hard to keep track of how long she had been at this place.

       Dave took the familiar looking envelope from the mailbox and practically sprinted to the computer, pulling the disk out as he ran.  He slapped it into the slot and sat back to watch as the image pulled back from a close up of a nipple pierced through by a huge needle to see that the nipple belonged to Jan as its travel was followed by insertion of a silver bar.  The camera angle widened to show Jan kneeling and strapped against a low table with her tits held tightly in a yoke clamp.  Dave noticed that the other tit had already been pierced with the protruding sliver bar in place.  Then Sister Flogger’s ample ass came into the camera shot as she hung a tiny silver bell on either end of the bar before screwing a small ball onto the end to hold the bell in place.  She gave each breast a good slap as she finished up.  The pained wince on Jan’s face was quite visible to Dave as he watched Flogger giggle, then turn back and give each tit another slap to hear the tinkle of the bells accompanied by her own laughter.

       “Easy to keep track of her with these in,” Sister Flogger chortled.  “And you’ll get the chance to see them in the flesh, so to speak, in just a few days.  In the meantime, enjoy the view,” Flogger smiled as the camera followed her around the table to see Jan’s backside.

“I know I enjoy it, immensely!”  Flogger’s throaty laugh was followed by the swish and slap of her heavy flogger against the welts already on Jan’s ass.  “Keep you posted on your new slave’s debut.”  The image faded out as Dave hit the replay button.

Jan remained bent over and spreading her ass cheeks as she saw Sister Flogger’s familiar boots approach from the side.  She felt a leash being snapped to her collar then pulling her up to stand and follow along.  Flogger gave the leash a quick jerk.

“Keep up slave. It’s promotion day.”  She stepped up her pace to a brisk walk, all the while yanking on Jan’s leash.   So today they make me a “slave,” Jan thought.  It’s about time.

“You will be tested on your training to obedience before our Supreme Mistress Evelyn,” Sister Flogger instructed as they walked toward the Mansion.  “If you show the slightest faltering or failing, you will be busted back to shit grade so fast it will amaze you.  And once there, the sets of punishments that you receive are quite hard to describe.  Got it?”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you Mistress,” Jan replied, genuinely grateful for her impending “promotion” as she struggled to keep up with Flogger.  As they approached the front of the Mansion, Sister Flogger steered over to a side door and knocked.  The door was opened by an older woman wearing a grey wool kilt and nothing else.

“Clean her and prep her for the presentation and plucking,” Flogger ordered, tossing the leash loop to the woman and turning to go.  “See you soon slave j, and don’t dare disappoint me.”

“Yes, Mistress, this slave thanks the Mistress,” Jan answered, inwardly smiling at the idea that she had been referred to as “slave j.”  A name, even a slave name, at last, she thought.  At last.

To be continued ...