People joke about things coming back.  Bellbottoms are out again, Legwarmers came back.  Flip-flops have been replaced by slippers once more and drugs have left vogue.  But those drugs left a void for something to come back, and that something is slavery.  It hasn’t really become poplar amongst the common low lives; they aren’t really smart enough to trade in flesh but the large organizations.  Mobs have taken it over mostly and they compete as they always have.  The only thing that has really changed is the merchandise.  From drugs to flesh, and not prostitution, or I should say not just prostitution. 

       They always did prostitution but sometime in the late 2020’s they figured out that they could earn more by gathering up the homeless and using them for free labor.  Then, someone a tad more unscrupulous thought that people would make better slaves if they were trained to it, in order to do that they needed to get them young.  They started taking children from the shelters, from foster homes, from juvi, even from parents that were poor or evil enough to sell their own children.  Then supplies ran low and demand went up.  They began to kidnap children, usually ones from bad areas and big families.  Children that couldn’t be traced in areas where people died every day and they weren’t missed except by a few.  Then demand changed, people wanted slaves that could double as bed partners.  Slaves that were stronger and could take a little more damage for their twisted fantasies.  So, the mobs teamed up with scientists and they began to genetically engineer humans to fit the demand.  They would transplant them into donor mothers who would act as constant incubators, and to tell the truth I’m not sure if they had much choice about it.  They would birth child after child until they either died or became useless in which case they were discarded, not pleasantly. 

       Let me clarify that none of this was legal.  But very much like the drug trade and the higher priced prostitution rings it was basically hard to track and impossible to get to due to innate corruption in the system.  Even more so as it progressed and it became children were born for and into slavery.  By 2030 they had created a breed of perfect slave children, obedient, strong, and by 2048 they were sold to various buyers.  I was one of those perfect children.

       I should note here that the lead scientist that developed the perfect children didn’t have the same goals as the mafia.  The scientist’s goal was to advance science uninhibited and he did, not always with his benefactors’ permission.  This was apparently how I came to be.  You see their goal was to create robot children.  Not mechanical robots you see but actual humans who could be molded to run on Isaac Asimov’s three laws.  This is simply a facetious representation but it makes my point.  They worked to create embryos that were genetically handicapped in free-will, ones that are more susceptible to doing what they are told and not really thinking outside the box.  These same people were also created to withstand torture with limited damage and more pain receptors.  And they were engineered for beauty, physical perfection.

       Apparently, I was the lucky embryo that he wanted to test a theory on.  He wanted to find out if a person could be genetically altered to have a higher functioning brain than normal people do, thus I was created.  The irony of course was that he couldn’t tell anyone about his success because his employers would kill both him and I for his actions.  They didn’t want hyper intelligent slaves, they wanted obedient ones.  Now, for a long time I was unable to fathom the doctor’s motives, whether he actually wanted the system he worked for to fail or if he was just fucking around with DNA because he had the opportunity.  Either way he created me.  A hyper intelligent girl, born a slave, sold into sexual servitude to become . . . well . . . I’m jumping ahead, I should tell you the journey, because that is the worthier part.

       The doctor that created us, his name was LuDuis.  Dr. LuDuis, I always thought that to be a particularly unfortunate name, if only because it sounded funny.  But we never laughed at him, well, I never laughed at him, the others wouldn’t have thought to laugh.  The doctor was a surrogate care-giver to us.  He saw most of us once a week.  I saw him more because he was watching me.  I was his real experiment, the only one he was really interested in.  I’d like to tell you how well I got to know him but that would be a lie.  I saw him every other day and never really met him.  Never knew who he was.  Sometimes I thought I saw a sparkle in his eye but it never lasted long enough for a second glance.  Sometimes I could have sworn he smiled but it was never there when I looked back.  I like to think that he did for me as he did because he cared.  I like to think that he was the light that was doing its part to chase away the shadows.  I don’t know if it’s true but it doesn’t matter.  That’s what he was to me.

       I got in a lot of trouble during those first years.  I wasn’t programmed for obedience as the others were; I was programmed for independent thought and intelligence.  I learned early, as most children do, what behaviors to avoid.  Since it had been awhile since they really needed to break a slave, they had forgotten how and simply applied force to any situation they approached, like the Neanderthals of times past.  I was beaten regularly, sometimes more than twice a day, sometimes for no reason at all what the trainers called ‘good-measure’.  I was also beaten when my fellows were.  Not so hard then because it wasn’t for punishment it was for training.  They trained us to tolerate a higher degree of pain because most of us would go to unsavory sadistic masters.  During my punishments, my trainers rarely held back.  Welts were common, abrasions as well, sometimes there would be blood but that was rare, they didn’t want to damage me I was to valuable for that. 

       Unfortunately, their senses didn’t match their tempers and they did damage me.  Scars on my back and bottom and a crack in my kneecap that didn’t heal correctly and would never be the same again.  Many of those trainers were killed for their carelessness, others were chastised, some were even broken and sold along with us to make up for the price loss that would come from my damage.  Dr. LuDuis was chastised for my free spirit but he protected himself marvelously by crediting me to a mutation that was bound to happen every so often.  They wouldn’t have done anything to him anyway; he was too valuable because he never wrote his findings down so if he died without passing it on he took the secret with him.

       By the time I was ten I was a perfect little drone like all the others, not really but that was how I acted to fool everyone.  I was the same as all the other beauties except for scars and a modest limp. 

       At ten, we were given specialized training.  Sex, cleaning, food service, and there was reinforcement of pain and silence that was our lives, pain and silence.

       At eighteen, we were lined up shoulder to shoulder to be picked and sold.  We were naked, it only made sense, there was no point in putting us in pretty clothes, the customers weren’t there for the clothes.  Dozens of men and women pawed at us greedily.  Most drew back at the old scars on my back; those who didn’t wouldn’t even look at me after a glance at my knee.  I wondered vaguely if I would be let go if I were of no value and then laughed at myself for the thought.  After a time, the room thinned out.  Some of the patrons had made purchases, others either hadn’t found anything to their taste or couldn’t afford the prices.  Many eyes lingered on me, sure I was flawed but that would be cheaper but none followed those thoughts through and purchased me.  Finally, I was the only one left, me and the patron that hadn’t stopped looking at me since he had first seen me.  He was older, silver streaked his hair and his face was careworn and lined although he looked sturdy enough.  I met his eyes accidentally and he smiled and raised an eyebrow at me.  I knew a challenge when I saw one and quickly looked back down again, cursing in my own head for being so bold.  A trainer went to try and sell me.

       “You interested in the doxy, sir?” he asked politely.  He didn’t answer but moved around me, examining.  He traced a few of the scars on my back and bent down to take a closer look at my knee.

       “She is damaged, considerably.” he mentioned.

       “Indeed sir, misunderstanding with the old trainers, we’ll sell her to you cheap, so cheap that if she doesn’t satisfy you’ll have plenty left for another.” he said and the man nodded.

       “How cheap?” he asked.  The trainer quoted a price and they haggled and eventually agreed on a price much lower than any of the others had been sold for.  The man took my arm tightly and led me out nodding a respectful goodbye to the trainers who were glad to be rid of me.  I was given mute colored clothes and was escorted by a few guards out to the man’s car.  I had never been outside of the complex.  There was a small courtyard in the middle they let us roam in to get a bit of sun but I had never been outside the gates.  We were on private grounds surrounded by fields and forests and it was beautiful.  I hobbled along between my guards my gaze scraping the grounds in amazement.  I didn’t get to see it for long, the guards stuffed me in the trunk and we drove off.

Part 2

       I might have slept in that trunk, or they might have slipped me a drug.  I don’t really remember.  When I woke up, I was in a bed, one that was far more comfortable than the one I was accustomed to.  Curiously, I poked at the mattress beneath me; it was wonderfully plush and comfortable, better than anything I’d ever even touched.  I wondered at it snuggling in confort for the first time.  I’d expected a cage or a board or something hard like the bed I’d grown up with.  I didn’t know what to do with myself; I was comfortable.  I heard the door open and quickly looked at my own feet, demure and obedient as I’d been trained.  I screwed up before but I was determined not to do it again.

       “LuDuis says yer a genius, and not quite as broken as ye seem.” he mentioned casually and I was so startled I looked up into his eyes.  He knew, it was written in every line on his face.  It wasn’t guesswork either, he knew, so there was no point in pretending.

       “He’s right.” I said and he grinned.

       “Good, up ye get now, yer to meet yer Master.” he called turning to leave.        

       “Not you?” I wondered, confused.  He let out a booming laugh.

       “Oh my wife would be after me with the frying pans if I brought home such as you, lass.” he laughed again and shook his head, “Nay, you’re for my nephew.  Lad needs a lassie and isn’t inclined to get one for hisself so I asked a favor of my dear friend LuDuis.  Said he was engineering humans so I was after mentioning that the lad needed a good lassie.  He said he had an experiment that needed a good home, and here ye are lass.  So up out of bed now and we’ll go downstairs and wait for him.”  I followed him downstairs, curious that he didn’t feel the need to reprimand me for my gall in speaking and questioning out of turn.

       “You didn’t beat me.” I mentioned, as I caught up with him going down the stairs.

       “For what?” he wondered, bemused.

       “For speaking out of turn, asking questions.” I offered meekly, not wanting to make it worse for myself if he was merely biding his time.  He stopped and looked at me sadly and mildly puzzled.

       “LuDuis mentioned ye didn’t have a good time of the treatment there, and I saw the scars but . . . what did they do?” he wondered.

       “They beat us, usually every day, occasionally more for me.  I was the only one who ever gave them a reason.  All the others were drones.  They had they’re purpose but there was nothing else going on in their minds.  I can think and reason and with years of drones they forgot what it was to train real individuals.  They used force assuming that was all it takes to break an individual and because that isn’t the case they used more force until I was maimed and they were punished.” I explained.

       “They’re ugly scars and yer knee . . .” he trailed off.

       “. . . will never regain full functionality.” I shrugged, finishing his sentence.  He clapped me on the shoulder, a bit more forcefully then he probably intended but I kept my balance.

       “It’s a sad thing and no mistake for one so young lassie, but I suppose it’s better they beat ye and couldn’t break ye.  I imagine you would rather have a fully functional mind than a fully functional knee, aye?” he offered kindly.

       “I think so.  I just wish they had bothered to teach us better.  Even a slave may need to read.  I would like to read.” I admitted. 

       “I think we might be able to oblige, lass, I’ll have a word with the lad.” he smiled.

       “So why did you buy me for him?” I wondered, but he seemed to know what I was really asking.

       “Well . . . it’s not that he couldn’t find a lass of his own, he’s handsome and successful and what have ye, but, he had trouble a couple years back.  He found his fiancée was flitting about, er . . . seeing other men in the biblical sense and she died.  Died horribly, actually, the man she had been flitting with tossed her into a wood chipper.  He didn’t recover so well from that.  He played dominant to her slave as well and it came as an extra blow that she’d been unfaithful.  So, he’s been wary about dating again and even more so about the lifestyle.  So, I think to myself he needs a lass that will not be unfaithful and enjoys the lifestyle.  I mentioned it to my good friend LuDuis and he tells me they’ve engineered lads and lassies for sexual slavery and I says that wouldn’t be any good as the lad needs intellectual stimulation as well and he mentions ye and how there will be trouble if he can’t find ye a home as yer so badly damaged.  So as one thing leads to another, here ye are.” he explained.  I nodded and frowned.  She hadn’t understood everything he’d said but she got the gist of the story.  He had a roundabout way of storytelling that left her a little dizzy, but his voice was smooth and nice to listen too.  A consummate story teller. 

       I didn’t know how much was the programming and how much was the training or if anything of me could have come from other than those two but I am a sexual slave.  It was the only way I’d ever found satisfaction sexually.  Not that my trainers were particularly interested in my satisfaction, but on the rare occasion they would attempt to stimulate me normally it would be ineffective in all but the basest biological sense, which would usually earn me another beating.  No, it wasn’t the sexual servitude that bothered me at all, it was that most considered physical violence part of that and I’d never enjoyed a beating in my life. 

       Thoughts chased themselves around my head endlessly and the man seemed more than happy to let me alone to digest, it was vaguely surprising to me, I would have thought him one to never stop talking.  He just sat on the couch closest to the door and patted the seat next to him.  I sat, for the first time, on a couch and waited to discover my fate.

       When the handle turned, I lowered myself, quickly despite my knee, to kneel on the floor facing the door.

       “Hello Master.” I called, staring at the floor intently, holding the position we were taught.  Knees open, hands on thighs, back straight, eyes down. 

       “Umm, hello?” he returned, bemused.  He looked back and forth from me to his uncle and back again.

       “Hello, uncle Mort, what is this?” he wondered, moving to his uncle and grasping his hand.

       “This is a gift, m’lad.”

       “You got me an underage BDSM prostitute?” he raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

       “Have a little tact lad, the lassie’s no prostitute!” his uncle argued.

       “She’s underage?” he groaned.

       “Of course not, have some faith in yer old uncle.” he scolded and the man sighed.

       “I’ve been in surgery for very nearly forty hours straight, uncle, if you could cut to the quick and explain why I have a kneeling, young woman on my floor calling me Master I would appreciate it.” he sighed, already done with the guessing game.

       “You remember my friend, LuDuis right?” he asked slyly.

       “The geneticist with the unfortunate name, yes?” he quipped.  I snorted with laughter and Mort frowned at me. 

       “Don’t ye encourage him, lassie.” he said jestingly.  I regained my composure quickly, cursing myself for my behavior.  The man raised his eyebrows at his uncle in anger and alarm.  Quickly, Mort filled in the rest of the story and although the anger and alarm became more pronounced it was no longer directed at his uncle.

       “She’s been abused.” he mentioned quietly, although not so quietly as I couldn’t hear.

       “They didn’t know how to train there, just break, you’ll have to do that one yourself.” he replied.

       “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.” he admitted.

       “If I hadn’t taken her, God only knows what would have happened to her.  No one was interested because of the damage and if she hadn’t been bought . . . I shudder to imagine.” he trailed off, letting his nephew’s imagination run.

       “Very well, uncle.  I will see to this, although I will reserve thanks until I figure out if it is a gift or curse.” he said in a clipped tired fashion but Mort knew his nephew well, he was saying thanks and he smiled.

       “You’re welcome.” he clapped the boy on the shoulder nearly knocking him down and turned back to me.  He tilted my chin up to look at him, “I’m sure I’ll see you again, lassie, until then.” He kissed me gently on the forehead and left.  I stayed in that position as the man collapsed tiredly on the couch and looked at me, seemingly deciding what to do.

       “Do you have a name, lass?” he asked quietly.

       “No, we weren’t given names.” I answered looking at him.  A flash of fury crossed behind his eyes and I looked down and tensed, expecting a blow but none came.

       “Right then, stand up and come here, I want to see this damage.” he ordered gently, his voice calm and kind.  I stood and removed my clothes, I later learned they were scrubs, and stood before him naked, waiting.  I saw his eyes bulge slightly and rake over me with desire and possessive affection.  He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.

       “The damage,” he reminded, twirling his finger, indicating that I should turn.  I did so, trying not to hobble as I leaned on my bad knee.  He sucked in his breath and muttered a few foul phrases concerning the sexual habits of the parents of those involved and their questionable parentage.  I braced for a blow, even knowing as I did that this time I’d done naught to deserve it and he cursed again as he noticed.  He leaned forward and I tried not to tense as his forefinger the oldest white scar I knew well.  He followed it from the top of my right shoulder around the third rib on the right and up to the very bottom curve of my breast.

       “How old?” he wondered.

       “Six, they weren’t allowed to use whips until we were six.” I answered.  His hand trembled in anger and I tensed again, waiting to be struck.  Instead, he moved his hand down to my knee and examined the old injury.

       “They didn’t treat it at all, it reformed wrong.  This must have been agony, when was this?” he asked.

       “When we were seven we learned the proper kneeling position; I didn’t learn fast enough.  I was lucky it wasn’t both knees.” I whispered, remembering that scene.  He cursed again in a language I didn’t know and again I tensed waiting for a blow.

       “Alright, put your clothes back on.” he sighed.  I went back and slipped back into my clothes and waited anxiously.  He watched me and seemed to be organizing his thoughts then he leaned forward.

       “I’m going to give you my own ground rules.  I’ve seen your flinching and I know it will take time for you to learn this but I will never strike you in anger.  I have enough self-control and coherent thought in my brain to know that striking anyone, especially a submissive, in anger is abuse.  If ever I strike you, it will not come as a surprise and you may enjoy it.  Second and perhaps more important, I will not touch you sexually unless you expressly wish it.  Nor will I act as your Master until you do not fear me.  I am not one who rules through fear, and I refuse to be.  Mort said you were genetically engineered to be sexually submissive and that’s very well and good but you’ll have to convince me of that, if you want, if not I will not force myself on you, I am no rapist.  Finally, you will not believe me when I say you are free to come and go as you please, but you are.  As far as I am concerned, you are not bound here and I will not keep you chained like an animal, if you wish to go you may.  However, if Mort tells it true, you have no identity, and really do not exist, nor do you have money and cannot read so I would both ask you to and suggest strongly that you stay here, knowing this is a safe place for you, at least until you can stand on your own two feet elsewhere.  Do you understand all this?” he asked.  I looked at him curiously and bemused.

       “Not at all.” and he waved a hand for me to explain, “You are a dominant and I am submissive if it is something you desire why shouldn’t you master me?  I am your property and still you maintain I am free to go, surely you don’t allow property to come and go of it’s own accord.  And rape . . .?” I trailed off because I couldn’t place the word, I’d never heard it before.  He leaned forward to cup my cheek, eyes full of sorrow. 

       “You don’t know this, but life isn’t supposed to be as you know it.  People in your situation are supposed to enter it of their own free will, are supposed to pick their partners, to be able to choose.  What they did, engineering humans and selling them for profit is so illegal and amoral . . .” he trailed off at my blank look, “It shouldn’t be like this.”  He stood up and gestured me to follow.  He took me into a room full to the brim of books, walls covered in shelves, piles on the floor.

       “Mort said you wanted to learn how to read.  I don’t have the time I’d like to teach you now but if you are as smart as I guess, you might be able to teach yourself.”  He set me up with an audiobook and the book Lord of the Rings and expressly told me it was fiction.  He showed me where the words started and how the intro wasn’t written in the books and dug up a dictionary for me to look up words I didn’t know.  By that time, he was tottering on his feet.

       “I need to get some sleep, gods above I’ve been up for two days.  Are you okay here?” he asked, pausing the audio book.

       “Yes, thank you Master.” I replied absently.

       “I’m not your Master lass, not yet at least, you shouldn’t call me such.” he put a comforting hand on my shoulder to show he meant no offence.

       “What should I call you then?” I wondered.

       “David is good,” he smiled tiredly and went up to bed.

       “Thank you, David.” I whispered at his retreating back.

       He was right, it didn’t take me long to teach myself to read.  By the end of the second chapter and before they’d even left Hobbiton I’d matched the sounds I knew to the written representation and was soon getting desperately confused by reading ahead of the narrating voice.  I turned off the disk and read on.  Occasionally, I looked up words I didn’t know and my vocabulary grew, as did my skill.  I’d finished the book in eight hours, which David later assured me was likely a world record.  I wandered into the kitchen, suddenly ravenous and the thought occurred that David would be waking up soon and might like to eat something.  I found a book called Cooking Basics for Dummies and laughed at the title.  I made scrambled eggs with some microwave bacon I found in the refrigerator and toast.  They’d tried to give us a little cooking training, but most of us didn’t have the mental capacity for cooking and so they gave it up and decided not to mention it to the customers.

       David stumbled down the stairs as I was finishing and ignored me completely as he measured off fragrant grounds into a machine.  Finally, when the machine finished gurgling and a liquid the color of mud filled his glass he came to investigate breakfast.  It was by no means gourmet, but it tasted good and he ate with gusto, still silent.

       “I’m not a morning person.” he said by way of apology and trudged back upstairs for a shower and to dress for work.  When he came back down he was a little more lively and awake and managed a smile as he sat down at the kitchen table and tie his shoes.  His gaze raked over me as I studied the dishwasher and the manual I’d found in a drawer.  I finished with the dishes and came over to sit opposite him nervously as he studied me silently.

       “I have a thirty hour shift next but after that I have a day off.  We’ll have to go and get you some clothes, and I’ll ask Mort about some identification.” he nodded, almost to himself.  Then he pounded the table with his open hands and pushed himself out of the seat with a bounce.  I flinched and the tightening of his face indicated he had noticed but he made no mention of it.  I followed him into the hall as he gathered his bag and coat and keys.

       “How did you do with Lord of the Rings?  I have other audiobooks if that’s not doing the trick.” he offered.

       “Oh, I finished it.” I shook my head.  He blinked and shook his head in bewilderment.

       “You finished Lord of the Rings?” he choked.

       “Yes, the tape was going too slow so I turned it off and finished it myself.” he continued to look at me as if I’d grown another head but then shook himself and grinned.

       “So Uncle Mort was right, you’re bloody brilliant,” he laughed, “If you look on the top shelf of the bookshelf next to the desk there are all my high-school and undergrad text books going from basic to advanced, left to right.  If you get through all of them it aught to fill in your education, if you have trouble with anything mark it and I’ll try to explain it later.” he smiled and looked as if he wanted to say something else.  He took a hesitant step toward me then seemed to think better of it, “Goodbye.” he muttered and swept out.  I looked after him for a moment, truly confused.  He wanted me, that was as plain as the bulge in his pants nearly every time one of those awkward silences came up.  He owned me, whether he would admit that or not, I was born and bred human property and he was my owner, no two ways about it.  Illegal?  Amoral?  I went into the library and looked in the dictionary.

               il⋅le⋅gal  [i-lee-guhl] –adjective

               1.forbidden by law or statute.

               2. contrary to or forbidden by official rules, regulations, etc.

               a⋅mor⋅al  [ey-mawr-uhl]  –adjective

               1.  not involving questions of right or wrong; without moral quality;

               neither moral nor immoral.

               2.  having no moral standards, restraints, or principles;

               unaware of or indifferent to questions of right or wrong:

                a completely amoral person.

I frowned, the prefix ‘a’ is not, great.  She flipped to moral.

               mor⋅al  [mawr-uhl] –adjective

               1.  of, pertaining to, or concerned with the principles or rules

               of right conduct or the distinction between right and wrong;

               ethical: moral attitudes.

               2.  expressing or conveying truths or counsel as to right conduct,

                as a speaker or a literary work; moralizing: a moral novel.

               3.  founded on the fundamental principles of right conduct

               rather than on legalities, enactment, or custom: moral obligations.

               4.  capable of conforming to the rules of right conduct: a moral being.

               5.  conforming to the rules of right conduct (opposed to immoral ):

               a moral man.

               6.  virtuous in sexual matters; chaste.

               7.  of, pertaining to, or acting on the mind, feelings, will, or

               character: moral support.

               8.  resting upon convincing grounds of probability; virtual: a moral certainty.

I flipped back to the definition of amoral and frowned.  It was so vague.  What did he believe was wrong?  Certainly not sex and domination, he’d obviously done both of those before.  Not sexual servitude, he’d had a sex slave before.  I paused, what was that he had said yesterday?  Consensual . . . she flipped to the C’s.

               con·sen·su·al ††(kən-sěn'shōō-əl)

               1.  Of or expressing a consensus: a consensual decision.

               2.  Law Existing or entered into by mutual consent without formalization by                        document or ceremony: a consensual marriage; a consensual contract.

0.                3.  Involving the willing participation of both or all parties, especially in an illegal                transaction or practice: the consensual crimes of prostitution, drug abuse, and                        illegal gambling.

4.        Of or relating to a reflexive response of one body structure following stimulation of another, such as the concurrent constriction of one pupil in response to light shined in the other.    

5.        Of or relating to involuntary movement of a body part accompanying voluntary movement of another.

       I frowned in confusion and sighed.  I turned to the textbooks he’d mentioned and hoped there would be answers in there.  The information was riveting.  Hour after hour, book after book, I learned and learned until my head was full then shook it forcefully and picked up another.  30 hours flew by without me so much as moving farther than from the shelf to the chair and back.  I got near to the end of third year undergrad before I passed out in exhaustion and when David came back he found me in a humorous sprawl over the plush leather armchair with a dictionary open over my shoulder serving as a blanket and an advanced sociology book clutched with my finger still marking a page.  Even as he made to shake me awake, I turned fitfully, dropping both books to the floor and whimpered.

       “I’ll do it right . . . please . . . no . . . I’ll do it right . . .” I muttered turning again and tossing my hands over my head so as to ward myself from a blow that didn’t exist.

       “Lass,” David said gently resting a hand on my arm.  I jumped awake and was on the floor in the slave kneel before he knew it.

       “I’m sorry, Master!” I gasped, heart hammering, as I wondered why I hadn’t been hit yet.  As if on cue, my mind began to function once more and I realized I’d been reliving my childhood in my dreams.  I relaxed a little, although I still knelt in the slave position, having sat like that most of my life it was as natural to me as any other position.  I took several deep breaths before looking sheepishly at David, who had kindly waited for me to calm down, and had occupied the seat I had vacated in the mean time.

       “I’m sorry, David,” I smiled wanly.

       “Dreams of your past?” he wondered, I just nodded, “What happened?”

       “It was the night they hurt my knee.” I answered vaguely.        

       “What happened?” he asked again.

       “It was around our seventh year and we were to learn the slave position.  No one else had trouble but I had so much trouble, over thinking I suppose, anyway, the main trainer decided I needed extra practice so, he dismissed the others to their beatings and he had me practice.  I would kneel and he would haul me to my feet by my neck when I got it wrong and had me do it again, barking orders all the while.  He wasn’t a patient man and soon he was pulling me up then forcing me back down quicker than I could stop.  So, I had one foot braced on the floor trying to keep my balance and when he pushed down he did it too hard and the hard concrete wasn’t as yielding as my flesh and bone.  But he didn’t hear the crack and wasn’t interested in my sobbing or screaming so he kept at it and then had me tied to the stretch rack so he could whip me for my tears and screams.  The next day when I visited Dr. LuDuis he discovered the damage but it was too late to do anything for the mobility, it had been more than 18 hours.” I sighed and shook off the memory and smiled brightly at him.  He leaned forward to stroke my face and even as I leaned into his touch, I flinched.  He drew back his hand smoothly but I wanted to cry, I wanted him, wanted to convince him that it was in fact the case but my mind was unwilling to cooperate.  Seemingly sensing my frustration, he patted my shoulder compassionately.

       “Let’s get some sleep.  Tomorrow we need to run errands, and lots of them by the looks of things.” he said.  He showed be back into the room I’d woken in and wished me good dreams and I looked sadly at his retreating back, wishing I wouldn’t have to spend the night alone.

       There had never been alone time when I was growing up.  There had been time when I had been left alone for moments at a time but there were always people there.  The sleeping conditions had been crowded really; we had been chained neck and ankle to each other and to the slightly raised area that served as our bed.  If there had been nightmares, it would have been bad but the company kept the nightmares away.  I didn’t mind being left alone with his library while he worked but I wanted to turn tail and run away from the big empty bed that loomed before me.  With a great sigh I climbed in and was asleep in moments so tired was I.  Unfortunately, I was also right, and the nightmares came almost instantly.  I woke many times, drenched in cold sweat and crying but I managed to keep it to myself, I didn’t want him to feel guilty for doing what he thought was right.

       The next day I was exhausted and it showed but I ignored it determinedly and we went shopping.  It was a new experience for me, and honestly fascinating.  We hadn’t worn clothes at all growing up and all the variety and color was amazing.  We went first to the underwear section because I had none of that and he said it was polite to have underwear on when I tried on clothes.  I left with several bra and panty sets, most of lace and very little of that and he laughed when I mentioned it.  Next was to a ‘normal’ clothes store, or so he said and the clerk ushered me to racks of clothes and piled my arms high with jeans and t-shirts and blouses.  Obediently, I tried everything on and David bought the ones he said looked best.  The next store had ‘nice’ clothes and there were many short skirts and dresses along with a couple formal outfits.  Finally, we were done, and while I acknowledge that idle shopping can be fun, this full wardrobe shopping was tough.  We stopped at a drug store on the way back to his house and bought toiletries.  When we got back, it was late so we had a quick bite standing over the sink and went to bed.  The nightmares didn’t end.

       After the shopping excursion, life took on a steady pattern.  David would go into work for his thirty hour shift, which I found to be intolerable, I couldn’t even force myself to stay awake for thirty hours straight, let alone practice medicine, while I steadily read my way through his small library.  Normally, I would forget to eat and sleep as I devoured all the new and exciting information but the dreams wouldn’t be kept at bay so easily.  I often fell asleep and David would return to find me crying or tossing or muttering.  When this happened he would wake me up gently and coerce me to talk about it.  When I wasn’t sleeping fitfully, he would carry up to my bed and tuck me in.  Nothing stopped the dreams and they were getting worse, not that I told him at all.  He probably felt very proud that he was helping me through what he considered Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but it wasn’t helping, or the effect wasn’t immediate.  It’s not that he wasn’t doing the right thing; it was just that I didn’t have PTSD.  It wasn’t a brief episode of horror it was my entire childhood.  It wasn’t a traumatic stress; it was how life was until just recently.  Really, the most traumatic stress was that it was over. 

       Two weeks from the shopping trip David came home in good spirits, he had one more shift then a few days off.  My mind was in turmoil.  I was getting better; I didn’t flinch at his sudden movements or when he drew near.  I trusted him and if the conversations we shared over meals were any indication we were compatible, in so much that a test tube slave and an Irish doctor can be.  And I was falling for him, it’s true I could have been confused with the whole, he pretty much saved my life thing, but even if he wasn’t just about the only man I ever saw, I wouldn’t look at anyone else the way I looked at him.  I’d never see anyone else if he was around, even if I wanted to, but I was afraid, afraid of being a slave even though I wanted it, yearned for it.  I was afraid of scaring him off, of flinching at the wrong moment and having him never be willing to touch me again.  I was afraid he would beat me and I would hate him for it.

       I meant to say something over dinner, something innocuous to test the waters but I lost my nerve and went to sleep in my lonely bed, cursing my cowardice.  As I said, the nightmares had gotten worse and that night was no different in that respect.  The difference was that I didn’t wake up at all, my dreams shifted from one horror to another without end. 

       Hours later when I woke I couldn’t remember even a snippet of the horror of the night but I remembered the cold sweat and the screaming if only because I was itchy in my own skin and my throat felt raw.  I opened my eyes blearily and found myself staring at an absolutely ripped chest.  Six clear abdominal muscles, eight if one was generous, and pectorals like slabs of stone, one that my head was resting on, warm and forgiving despite appearances.  As my mind defogged, I felt the arm I hadn’t realized was under me play gently on my hip.  I glanced up and smiled, he was fast asleep but he was holding me close.  He must have heard my screams, the screams I had been stifling for weeks and come in to comfort me.  But the dreams wouldn’t let me loose so he stayed to soothe me and help me sleep.  It worked, for the first time in weeks I felt well rested.  With a smile and a drowsy sigh, I fell back into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep, curled against him perfectly as if the spot was made just for me.

       When I woke again, I was alone, and wondered for a moment if the whole thing had been my imagination but I could still smell him and I was well rested and at peace, he had been there, he’d just gone to work.  I dressed lazily in scrubs, I don’t know why but they were what I felt most comfortable with and since he noticed me wearing them so much he’d acquired a few pairs from work and brought them home for me.  For the first few days I was there, despite the new wardrobe he’d bought, I walked around naked.  I was so used to being naked it didn’t even occur to me to put clothes on.  David put his foot down on that one; he said I could catch a chill.  I’m fairly convinced it had more to do with his reaction than my health. 

       I went down and grabbed a bite to eat before returning to my now favorite chair in the library and a book called Dante’s Inferno.  I had finished all the textbooks days before and had started in on what he considered literature and fiction.  I had no sooner settled down and found my page than there was a knock at the door.  I frowned; there had been no visitors in the time I’d been there.  I went cautiously to the door and looked out, it was Mort, I smiled and opened the door.

       “Hello there lassie.” he smiled and stepped in.  He had a folder under his arm and a bag in his hand.

       “Hello Mort.” I smiled and hugged him a bit.  He seemed surprised but hugged me back, albeit a little gingerly.

       “Laddie called me this morning as he’s headed to work and says that ye had a bad night and could use a little company.  Not to mention I’ve managed to procure some papers that say ye exist and instead of doing it the hard way I just made ye an Irish citizen with a four year visa and when the lad finally decides to marry ye, we’ll get yer citizenship finalized.”  He handed me the folder and we went in the kitchen.  He busied himself about the stove making tea and I perused the paperwork.  I had a name now; I was Siobhan O’Donnchadha.  I stumbled a bit over the translation before Mort took pity on me and sounded it out.  It read like Sheevahn Donohugh, I made him repeat it a few times then I started from him to the words on the page as he laughed.

       “This is the Gaelic spelling then?” I wondered remembering David showing me a book in Gaelic.

       “Oh aye, they’re a big clan with plenty of Siobhan’s, this one happens to be one that died young.  No one will look twice at the custom’s office.” he nodded, setting tea before me.  I carefully gathered the papers and put them back in their folder before pushing it aside in favor of the tea.  I sipped gleefully, Mort’s wife made delicious tea, and we were companionably silent for a while before he cleared his throat and frowned at me.

       “David was worried this morning when he called, he says to me that he thought ye were getting better but last night yer screams could’ve shattered windows.” I looked down into the dark cup and took a long draught before I spoke.

       “They were never getting better, they were getting worse and David . . . he’s a good man, through and through but he doesn’t understand.  He wants it to be simple, wants it to be PTSD and that be it, but it’s not.  It’s like . . . hell it is that I have lived my entire life in a box and now I am blinking in the sun.  I’d be doing better if he were beating me and ridiculing me.  When I was there, it wasn’t that they were torturing me it was just life, it was the way things are.  But now . . . now my entire life was a horror story and I’m not there anymore.  It’s hard to come to terms with everything I’ve ever known being someone’s horror story.  It’s not PTSD, and I don’t know if it’s going to get better, it just is.” I took another long draught.  “I think I love him, Mort and that oblivious bastard won’t let me.  It was better when he was there.  I woke up and I’d actually slept for the first time in two weeks . . .” she trailed off realizing who she was talking too, “Mort you can’t tell him any of this, please, he would be so upset.” I begged.  He frowned at me.

       “I won’t tell him, but ye should.” I scowled at the idea and he shrugged.

       “Do as ye will, as for the other thing . . . yer going to have to go to him.  He’s going to wait for ye to make the move, to let himself feel better about ye being who y’are.  It sounds stupid I know but it’s who he is and ye wouldn’t love him if he weren’t hisself.” I acknowledged the truth in his statement.

       “So how do I convince him?” I wondered hopelessly.

       “That, m’lass, is so much easier than ye think.” he grinned. 

Part 3

       He gave me some advice and helped me set up what he called a classically romantic scene for when David got home.  I cooked and dressed and waited.  He came back on time and headed up to his room to shower and change as he usually did when he got back.  While he did that, I set the table and served dinner.  I poured the wine Mort has suggested and didn’t have long to wait.  He came down within twenty minutes, dressed in house clothes and looking tired; his eyes grew as he saw the candles and the dinner and wine.  He smiled

       “You’re not twenty-one.” he smiled and sat, swishing the wine in the glass.

       “No, but Siobhan O’Donnchadha is.” I laughed.

       “That’s right, Mort found you an identity.  Congratulations, Siobhan.”  He raised his glass and I met mine with his.  We ate quietly and if I do say so myself it was good food and when we’d finished I dragged him out into the sitting room and started the music.

       “I feel foolish.” he whined, gesturing at his pjs.  I just smiled and pulled him to me as the music started.  I took Mort’s advice again in this and there were three songs on the cd.  The first one of moderate speed, the second fast and the last slow.  At the first, we spun and danced close, during the second we jumped about like crazies but on the last, with us both breathing hard and leaning on each other we swayed and held each other close.  As the music slowed for the end he reached up, brushed my now crazy hair out of my face and cupped my cheek with his hand.  I leaned into it without even tensing and I tossed my arms around his neck as he drew me up to his lips. 

       While the night didn’t go precisely as planned, it went well.  I had planned to make it upstairs to the bed, either of them really; we didn’t even make it to the door.  Off came the skimpy dress with nothing under it, off came the pj’s and down went us rolling and laughing on our small pile of discarded clothes.  He kissed me passionately, over and over sweeping and claiming my mouth with his and I just let my hands wander, everywhere I could touch and taste there went my hands and mouth.  It was so different an experience than all I was used to.  Love and choice, badly maimed as I was it was nothing I expected, from all I’d known as a child.  But here it was.  He took my aching breasts in his mouth and sucked and licked gently on the turgid nipples.  Finally, he came back up and with him came his penis, prodding at my nether regions.  Finding it wet and inviting he pushed in slowly, seemingly confused at finding it so tight.  Slowly, gently he worked himself back and forth again, every time a little deeper.  Until one small thrust broke through something.  I tensed and grunted a bit in pain and he froze, confused.

       “You’re a virgin?” he wondered, bemused, I nodded.

       “For a lot of the buyers, virginity is a must so they kept us so.” I explained.

       “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered, “I’d have warned you if I known.”

       “It doesn’t matter,” I groaned and ground my hips against his, “Don’t stop.”  He complied a little more careful now but he couldn’t be careful for long.  God only knew how long he’d been chaste and with me around teasing every nerve ending in him his mind shut down and his body took over.  In and out, in and out settling into a savage rhythm; yes it hurt, but I was so far gone by that point I met every thrust with a lewd thrust of my own hips matching his rhythm with enthusiasm. 

       I went into overload and gave a screaming climax like none I’d known and when the haze passed he was still driving, fingers and lips plying my flesh first letting me down and then bringing me back up without even a brief rest.  In and out, in and out, higher and higher until I was there again, soaring with the clouds and he was there with me.  I came back down with difficulty, breathing hard and sprawled over him.  He smiled down at me and laughed a bit at the amazement on my face.

       “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” he murmured, kissing the top of my head gently.

       “Thank you, Master, that was wonderful.” he tensed under me and looked at me sadly.        

       “Nay lass, not master, just David remember?” he reminded, gently.

       “You don’t mean that.” I cried, sitting up and looking down at his prone form.

       “Of course I do, I can’t take you on as a slave as you are.  You don’t recognize that there is another way to be.” he explained as if to an infant.

       “Oh, you’re a bloody fool and a blind one.” I spat, drawing the flimsy dress back over my person, “You’re the one who doesn’t recognize things as they are, I haven’t bloody got PTSD.  The night terrors didn’t get better because we talked about them, they got worse and I’m not submissive because I was trained to be I’m submissive because I was born that way, no matter how questionable the birthing might have been.” I stalked off, furious, truly furious for the first time.

       “How do you know all that, I never mentioned . . .” I spun around to face him, still naked and gorgeous but I wasn’t seeing that at the moment.

       “I’ve finished that shelf, David,” I spat, making the name an insult with my tone, “I know what you were trying to do, but I’m not ill, I just had a very bad sheltered childhood.  Don’t bloody treat me like a china doll and don’t pretend for a moment that all this anxious waiting is all for my sake.  You’re afraid, afraid of someone leaving you as she did, afraid to bear your heart again.  Naught but a bloody coward.”  I turned to leave again but he grabbed my arm.

       “I’m giving you a choice . . .” he argued but I cut him off.

       “I’ve made my choice,” my eyes raked unkindly over him, “Or I had, but I suppose you know what’s best for me and apparently its not you?”

       “You don’t understand . . .” he began and I slapped him.  His head snapped to the left and he slowly brought it back around in absolute shock.

       “It’s not I who doesn’t understand.  My life was naught but pain and silence, always pain and silence.  You’ve brought me knowledge and a little relief and for that alone I could love you but I know what I would face in this world.  For one such as me, you’re the best the world has to offer.  And no matter what you seem to think about it, I enjoy being submissive, I can’t help it and it’s not training, it’s breeding, same as what makes you dom, if a little less legitimately done.  I can’t help what I grew up in but neither can you and for you to take that blame on your shoulders is idiocy, and to deny something we both want for them, makes them strong.  It means they’ve won.  I love you, you blind bloody coward, now you either must do somewhat about it or stand aside.”  I hadn’t noticed during my rant that his hand had gripped my wrist tighter until it hurt a bit but I had been watching the eyes and they glinted with rage.  I didn’t tense.  He said he never struck in anger, and I knew he wouldn’t.  He’d been naught but true to his word, but now I was pushing and if he was really the dom I needed he would rise to the challenge.  I’d called him names, insulted his intelligence, he couldn’t afford to take that lightly, not in the precarious position we were in.

       “So you want to be a slave?  My slave?” he hissed, “You want me to punish you for that sass?  Want me to hold the end of your leash and dictate your life even though you just escaped just that?” he asked.  He laid his hand, the one that wasn’t bruising my wrist, over the back of my throat and gave it a gentle shake, “Well?”

       “Yes David, the difference being I trust you to do it out of love, or at least like, as opposed to profit and psychopathic sadism.” I replied.

       “Fine then.” he said shortly.  He dragged me over to the metal and glass coffee table in the center of the room, ripping the simple slip off me as he strode.  He forced me down onto the table widthwise so my breasts pressed on the glass.  He wrapped my arms around the legs forcing them apart and pressed shackles that had been cleverly disguised by the table around them so I was bound fast.  He kicked my knees apart forcing my chest to lean further onto the table and shackled my knees to the opposite legs so they were spread wide, almost wider than I could stand.  He walked away then, leaving me uncomfortable and bound.  He came back a few minutes later, calm now, almost serene and he sat in front of me so that I might see him.

       “You didn’t flinch.  I raised my voice, I was furious and might have taken a hand to you but you didn’t even flinch.” he mentioned.

       “You said you would never hit me in anger.” I answered.  He nodded and moved away, shuffling around, making preparations.  When he came back into my view he held two short, lit tapers and slowly, so that I saw what he was doing, he fit them into slots made for them in the table directly under my nipples.  They were far enough so they would not cause damage but it was clear they were going to heat the glass to an uncomfortable level.  I cursed at his ingenuity but he was far from done.  He walked off again, but only moved behind me to the couch to watch as the candles began to work.  As soon as my low moaning and fruitless struggles had reached the level he wanted, he was back and I felt the strap he held graze my bottom.

       “I’m going to give you thirty strokes, lass, five for every time you called me a coward and twenty for striking me.  You will thank me for every one, each time you do not thank me you will earn another two.  Is all this clear?” he asked.

       “Yes Master.” I gasped, leaning as far away from the uncomfortably warm glass.  Much as I was expecting it, the first stroke threw me off guard.  I was driven into the hot glass and jumped in my bonds, struggling fruitlessly against the ties about my wrists.  I let out a low gasp, less from the pain, because it was not a terrible hit, and not because of the warmth of the table, but of the rushing warmth I felt from within.  Damn him if he wasn’t right, I was enjoying this.

       “That’s an extra two, don’t forget to thank me.” he reminded.  After two more blows, one of which I forgot to thank him again, I found it was easier to press myself against the table no matter the discomfort, it was far easier doing that than being pushed onto it again and again. 

       After another ten my arse ached and he was hitting harder.  Another twenty and I was an unattractive mess crying constantly as the strap continued to rain against my bottom and thighs.  Then it was over and he gently removed my hands and knees from their straps and rubbed my wrists and knees where I’d bucked so much the strap had rubbed my skin.  He held me then, whispering soft endearments to me and rubbing my hot aching flesh.  The very touch of his hand dismissed the pain and ignited another want.

       “Master,” I whispered, leaning into him and begging with my eyes.  He moved his hand and let it dip between my legs finding it a hot forge that was ready to welcome him.  He rose in response to my need and sat me gingerly on his lap, allowing me to ride him.  This was in no way the position of power it would normally be.  He firmly grasped my hips and moved me as he chose.  Choosing the pace and the rhythm, using my willing body for his maximum pleasure.  Up and down and the feeling built and built and built until I exploded from the sheer ecstasy and still he moved me.  Working me harder and faster keeping me swirling in ecstasy until he too reached his own completion and I collapsed against him.  With infinite care, he tried to tuck me into bed but as he moved away I grasped his arm tightly and he smiled and climbed in beside me.  He moved my limp body against him and I obligingly snuggled against his beautiful chest, tossing a leg carelessly over his.  A few moments of steady breathing and me on the very verge of oblivion he kissed my forehead gently.

       “My beautiful slave.” he whispered and I smiled into his chest and dropped off.

Part 4

       Life was good for awhile.  David was reluctant for a couple days but once he was acquainted with the idea that I enjoyed the activities as much as he did, he was better, willing . . . eager even.  Of course, it couldn’t stay that way.  I took classes and read voraciously to keep myself occupied but my mind always trailed back to my origin and the brothers and sisters whose lives must still be living horrors.  It weighed on my soul that I was saved from our fate and they were still enthralled. 

       “We have to do something!” I raked my hands through my hair.  I’d had another dream while I dozed waiting for him to come home.  I was soaked in cold sweat but the dream hadn’t been about me, it was about the others.  All the test tube brothers and sisters that had been bought by other people.

       “There is nothing to do, love,” he explained to me again.  This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation.

       “They are people, David!  Real people with . . .” I trailed off.  I didn’t know of anything they had that could follow that statement.

       “With no papers, no family, no cognitive ability.  Christ, even if we could find them and free them, they’d never be more than robots.  They’re like domestic animals, we’ve bred big cats and wolves into such genetic submission that they can’t survive without us.  Saving you was a mercy, saving them would be cruel.” he argued.

       “They’re people!” I repeated stubbornly.

       “They’re not.” he disagreed sadly, “And even if they were, there’s no way to find them and trust me when I say that even if we could we do not want to mess with the type of individuals who are buying them.”  I made to argue again but he silenced me with his lips against mine and carried me back to bed.

       I just couldn’t live with the guilt so I did something stupid.  I disobeyed my Master.  Now, technically, he didn’t forbid me, he just would have if he knew what I was up to.  While he was on one of his endless shift rotations, I skipped a few days of classes and began an investigation.  I remembered from that day one man, and a couple bodyguards, buying eight girls.  As that was more than half our number, it stood out in my memory and surely, a private owner wouldn’t need eight.  So, either he was reselling or they were public entertainment.  Going on the impression that a BDSM club would be easier to find than an illegal slave auction; I googled it.  Genius I may be but nothing beats google for finding shit. 

       I hit paydirt on the third site I clicked on.  The fine cursive header read CHROME: Your first class destination for alternative company and performances.  Under that was an update. Chrome welcomes the silicone sisters; eight beautifully natural women with no other thought but their Master’s pleasure be it at the end of his dick or the end of his whip.

       It was too obvious to be a coincidence.  I looked around guiltily, as if expecting my Master to come and catch me but he wouldn’t be back until nearly dawn, and it wasn’t even ten.  I felt sure I could make it back by then.  I would go, perform a touch of reconnaissance and be back before he could tell me off for the horrible risk.  Before I could talk myself out of it, I was in my room changing into something appropriate for a BDSM club.  I paused at a rubber catsuit and corset thinking to play domme and maybe be a little safer from detection but on second thought, I’d never be able to pull it off.  Instead, I pulled on black lacy bra and panties and slipped into a nearly translucent little black dress.  I already wore my Master’s collar and around my hips went a gold chain link belt with a buckle that resembled a lock and off I went without even the time to talk myself out of the foolish endeavor.

       Four illegal U-turns, two run lights and one near miss with a cop later I was hyperventilating outside a plain brick storefront whose windows had long been bricked over.  It was set back on an old road off the beaten path and it’s simple silvered script sign read Chrome.  Before I could turn around again, I got out of the car, leaving it unlocked with my purse and keys under the seat, and marched in.  Inside, was an entrance hall, plain and short with black velvet draping the walls to dull the sounds transmitted and delicate looking chains looped periodically.  To the right was a coatroom, that looked to be nearly full, it was late in spring, usually no need for a coat at all, except if one needed to cover risqué clothing.  To the left was a black velvet draped podium with a submissively decked greeter. 

       “How can Club Chrome service you this evening?” she purred seductively.  She was well trained and the way her eyes raked my told me she preferred women and wasn’t all that submissive.

       “I want to see my sisters.” the words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them.  LuDuis might have made me a genius, but genius and common sense do not go hand in hand.  She blinked, confused but gathered herself quickly.

       “Who are your sisters?  Do they work here or are they visiting?” she asked gently perhaps afraid I would begin squawking or speaking with imaginary foes at any moment.

       “The silicone sisters, they are my foster sisters, I would like to see them before they perform.” I explained reasonably.  She raised a perfectly formed eyebrow at me that said plainly she knew exactly where the silicone sisters came from and who I was and I realized that I was in way over my head.

       “Let me get the manager and see if we can’t arrange a reunion.” she smiled frostily.  The greeter glanced stonily over my shoulder and I took a deep breath when I saw a huge man settle visibly in front of the only door out.  The greeter strolled into a hidden door behind her podium and a flee urge set into my bones.  I strolled to the bouncer in front of the door and smiled winningly. 

       “I’m sorry to bother, I just need to get my compact out of my car.” He didn’t even look at me.  I reached for the handle but his hand closed over my wrist in a vice grip and he tossed it back forcing me to back a few steps from sheer momentum.  My breath came quick in panic.  I was trapped.  I shook my way back to the podium and waited, my fate sealed.  The greeter came back through the door and behind her was the man I recognized as the one who had made the purchases.  His eyebrow rose when he saw me, and a slow smile crossed his handsome face making it sinister and predatory. 

       “Good day to you, girl, I wondered which of the sister’s sisters was here, I must say I am surprised to see you.  Since you are so eager to see your sisters, I have no objection,” he raised a negligent hand and all eight slaves came forward.  They all wore strict bondage maid outfits.  A tight black and white corset with a little froth off the shoulders and a tiny puffed skirt.  The corset held the breasts high and opened to a tray on the front where the mounds rested leaving plenty of room for other things, the collection of which currently adorned was enough to make me faint.  All of them wore two sided penis gags, all of which were a good six to eight inches protruding, probably not as much in their mouths.  Most of them had their hands bound tightly crossed and secured behind their backs but two had loose, albeit chained, hands.  The heels on their feet were over five inches and enough to make me wince looking at them but really none of that even compared to the collection of items on the trays.

       On the tray of the bound woman nearest was a single knife of frightening length and a keen edge.  One of the unbound women picked up the knife and approached me and I backed away right into the bouncer who had come up behind me to hold me still.  I begged and pleaded calling on kinship and mercy but I might as well have been talking to the wall.  Without preamble the girl sliced my clothes and the other girl with her hands free removed the shreds from my body.  They were piled onto the tray with my shoes and the knife and that girl walked out.  The next came forward and on her tray was a gag and a strap and what looked like a pump.  Despite my best efforts the gag was forced in my mouth by one girl and the other pumped until the extension was so large and solid in my mouth there was no way to remove it.  The strap came away and still the extension was left inside.  I whimpered and cried but no one cared.  The pump and strap were returned to the tray and she left.  The next girl came forward staggering under the weight of dozens of cuffs of different shapes and sizes.  All of them had four or more attachment points and better suited to a medieval dungeon than a bondage club.  The first went about my waist and was about half a size too small.  The next went around each of my thighs, then my knees then my ankles, elbows, wrists and neck. 

       I thought then they must be done, where else could they put them?  The next two went around the base of my breasts and tightened themselves until my fair sized mounds plumped and filled with blood to resemble purple light bulbs.  Unburdened, the girl left and the next came forward.  On her tray were two long bars and several connecting rings.  Two connecting rings held my elbows together behind my back and another my wrists that thrust my aching swelling breasts right into the girl’s face.  The longer bar was attached to my ankles forcing them a foot wider than shoulder length, the next was attached to my knees forcing me to stand in an agonizing squat and thrust forward my sex.  Another ring attached my breasts together.  As if summoned, another girl came forward before that one left.  On her tray were two dildos, both metal and fairly large and nubbed for pain as opposed to pleasure.  I was glad my pussy was wet from terror as she shoved that first one to without preamble.  It was horrendous and felt as if it would split me.  The next one was smaller and thinner but still a daunting prospect with the one already killing me.  Helpless to stop them I took care to relax my ass as she approached and the going was doable, if not pleasant.  The girl left then and another came forward with yards of chains.  She attached one end to the front of my collar and attached my bound breasts to it, then draped it lower so it fell through, but didn’t attach to the cinch at my waist.  It went through holes in the bottom of the dildos obviously designed for just that then back up, through another hole in the back of my belt, under my bound arms and through a hole in the back of the collar. Finally, the chain was left with a long tail in back of me which served as a leash, or so I thought.  They forced me forward, both girls and bouncer to a room that was completely dark.  They hauled me up the stairs and jerked me forward by the chain until it suited them.  Then the chain dropped against my back and I heard a click.  Some motor started moving and the chain began to recede from hanging down.  Then it became taut then it forced me onto my toes, most of my weight rested on my crotch, crouched and shackled as I was, there wasn’t much strength in my legs to hold me on my toes.

       In front of me, deep velvet curtains parted, throwing dancing colors and lights onto me.  Finally, all of them settled and several white spotlights illuminated my heavily bound form. 

       “Ladies and Gentlemen, Doms and Subs, tonight’s performance by the Silicone Sisters has been canceled.  This evening we find ourselves with a new and exciting opportunity.  A slave has come to Club Chrome after running away from her Master in order to stir rebellion amongst our slaves.  This is forbidden of course and our loyal slaves were unmoved.  Instead, the instigator was captured and her Master has given us full reign on her punishment.  Furthermore, he claims she stole money from his coffers to aid her escape and mutiny and we are to find out where the treacherous slut has hid it.  Join us if you will to see this poisonous bitch get her due.  Twenty for voyeurs, fifty for participants and a round hundred for penetration; for now, watch her writhe in the strictest bondage she has ever known until midnight when her punishment begins.  The winch started up again and my toes we no longer brushing the ground.  I was drawn a full two feet in the air and left swinging over the stage by the chain that split me up the crotch forcing the dildos in deeper and pulling mercilessly on my breasts.  I writhed in agony and there was a cheer from the crowd.  My face must have been drenched by rivers of tears but no one seemed to notice or care.

       I hung there for an eternity, gently swaying as the people below lined up for tickets to my degradation.  All I could think of was how I got here.

       Yes, we shared hell together and yes, I was the one who got out intact but surely those brain-dead shells of human beings weren’t worth this.  I remembered how hard it had been to adjust to real life and real love after hell was all I’d known.  I remembered the night terrors and the nightmares, the agony and fear.  Wouldn’t it have been easier to never know what heaven was?  Wouldn’t it have been easier to stay in hell forever than to have escaped and be back so soon?  I remembered the last conversation David and I had on the subject.

       “I think, and please love, don’t be angry, I think you want them to be more human than they are.” he had said, gently, searching for a clean pair of scrubs.

       “They are human!” I had argued angrily.

       “From what you’ve told me, love, they don’t really fit the classification.  They’re not autonomous creatures, they can’t think for themselves, all they know is what they are ordered to do.” he corrected.

       “That’s not their fault, they were trained that way!” I had bellowed, clenching my fists in fury.

       “No, love, they weren’t trained that way, they were born that way.  Dr. LuDuis, and devil take the man for playing with such as this, genetically altered them in the womb to be less than human.  They have no free will, no independent thought, they could not live on their own and unless you would prefer them to die, they can’t be free.  They are like house pets.  Love, what they are has nothing to do with you.  You heard Mort, you were altered to the other extreme, not only could you live on your own you could probably rule the world.  You are not them, you are human, super human.” he smiled and touched my face gently.

       “It’s still wrong.” I snapped, my anger fading.

       “There are many wrongs in this world, pick a less dangerous one to fix.” he sighed and went to work.  Was that really only a day ago?  I began to struggle in my bonds to the wild entertainment of the crowd below.  I had to go, I wanted to leave.  To hell with my test tube sisters and their master and this club, I just wanted to be there when David collapsed into bed.  Wanted to wrap myself around him and ease the stress of his job.  My tears began anew and I sagged, broken, in the chains.  I would have to ride this one out, take my punishment for my stupidity and disobedience and pray there would be a reprieve later. 

       Finally, the curtains closed and the winch lowered me back to the ground where I crumpled onto the floor.  Quick and nimble hands unfastened all my accoutrements until I was completely naked and whimpering with only my holes filled.  Those fingers scurried off and new ones dislodged the pump gag from my mouth and tore the dildos from my pussy and ass.  I just lay there, passive, waiting.

       The curtains opened again and there were less than a quarter of the people that had been there before; apparently, outright abuse was not everyone’s cup of tea.  Those that remained were mostly male doms with an occasional female domme and a sub or two here and there. 

       The emcee came on stage and the cold grin under his mask told me he was the same man who arranged it. 

       “Please.  I’m sorry, please let me go home, please!” I begged, discarding my pride like the mask it was.  I never had any really, I had thought I’d earned some when David had saved me but really it was nothing but a lie.  His grin grew at my submissive plea and it wasn’t the only thing to grow but it changed nothing.

       “She wants to go home!” he roared to the room.  The crowd laughed and jeered.  I curled into a pathetic fetal position.

       “I want to go home IwanttogohomeIwanttogohome . . .” I chanted as he stepped forward to address the watchers.

       “We are here in leiu of our special production to assist a fellow in punishing and training his recently treacherous slave.  Will the first participant come forward.”

       The crowd quieted and rustled as a man came forward and climbed the stairs to the stage.  The emcee incline his head to the dom and headed back stage to watch from the wing.  I tracked his progress and saw the bouncer and all eight girls waiting there as well and wondered if any of them would help me if he got to rough, or if they would even care.  I wondered if the man believed what he told the crowd, that I was a faithless runaway and that he was assisting my master.  It was sure he hadn’t spoken to David and that he had invented the tale of the stolen money, but perhaps that was just for the crowd’s benefit, some people needed a goal and a confession was a good one as it stood.  Vaguely I wondered where the submissive hostess was but that thought track was decimated by the new man on the stage hoisting me bodily to my feet. 

       He cuffed my writs and ankles into a metal frame I hadn’t noticed earlier.  With a flourish, he placed a bar in front of my waist and out of his pocket came wicked weighted nipple clamps and they were securely tightened.  I gasped a little but really, I’d suffered worse in the last couple hours.  To my surprise, his next move was to bend the frame forward so I was bent nearly in half over the bar at my waist.  I could have cried if there was a tear left, they were going to beat me.  At my request, David didn’t do many pain games and true to his word, I always enjoyed when he did.  I shivered as I was turned around so my raised ass and exposed sex faced the crowd.  I flashed back to my childhood and wasn’t sure I could hold on to my sanity if I felt the whip or crop, tools of choice where I was raised.  Thankfully, it was the flat sting of a paddle I felt across my ass.  He knew what he was doing, the right amount of force, not following a pattern covering my whole ass, and even as I acknowledged his skill I cursed his existence, especially as it got worse.  Soon my whole bum was bright red and my light whimpers had become sobs and cries but still he continued.  Finally, he stopped to tremendous cheers; I could do nothing but hang there in pain. 

       The emcee came back and caressed my discolored ass, I hissed in pain and screamed when he pinched.  He ran a finger up my dry slit and raised his eyebrows at the crowd.

       “Not a painslut I see, not that it matters too much, and what better punishment than one she does not enjoy!”  He raised the frame again so I was standing and turned me toward the crowd, “Who is our first penetration?” he called.  A man came forward onto the stage and there was polite applause as he approached the emcee.

       “Please tell us sir, which hole would you take and would you like us to prepare her or would you do it yourself?” he asked and held the microphone in front of the man to answer.

       “Call me a traditionalist but I’ll take that sweet puss and you can get her warmed up for me.” he smirked. 

       “As you will, everyone please welcome the Silicone Sisters as they prepare the slave.”  There was enthusiastic clapping as all eight of them came and laid hands on me.  One stroked my shoulders, one my hair, one for each breast, two on my back and the last two on their knees, driving me into a frenzy with their hands and tongues.  Despite my own determination and distracting thoughts, there was no denying my body’s response and with so much stimulation it took no time to reach the edge.  The crowd held it’s breath in anticipation, I was not permitted to cum, if I did all of us would be in trouble, not that my trouble could have gotten much worse.  But the sisters were expertly trained, teetering on the very brink all hands left me and the sisters vanished.  I wailed in anguish as I thrust my hips to finish but there was nothing to thrust against and not enough give in my bonds even if there had been.  It was then, in my agony, that the penetrator came back.  He thrust into me without delay and after a moment, just standing there, he pulled out.

       “I’ve changed my mind!” he announced, and took his slicked dick and thrust it to the hilt in my ass.  There were loud cheers as he slammed into me again and again and I could do nothing but scream.

       Needless to say my suffering was great that night.  I, for the sake of your stomachs and minds, will not enumerate every wound to my flesh and soul in the detail I have, instead I believe a list will suffice to convey my torment.  After that first rape, a participant came forward to stretch me on a modern rack until I thought my limbs would be torn from my body.  While still stretched to the limit, two penetrators were invited one for my mouth and the other for my bottom.  Still stretched, two participants came and warmed my flesh with floggers.  I lost count of the strokes but they didn’t miss any flesh and my formerly ivory skin was pink and red with pain.  When they left another participant was called and he had a cane.  It was then I believe I went somewhere else.  If you have never been caned, I can’t explain it, not really.  Even a light force is a sharp sting with a cane due to the limited surface area and rigidity of the instrument..  Wielded too heavily, it has no trouble breaking flesh, and as my flesh was already weak from previous beatings and as this particular participant had a heavier hand than most, my flesh gave to the implement.  He wasn’t allowed as much time as most of the others. 

       As I said, growing up the cane was common and my mind fled.  It had been so good, with David, precious man, but for a moment it was very much as if he had never existed, I was sixteen all over again and my wardens were debating that since I was so damaged anyway why shouldn’t they have their fun with me. 

       When the canning came to a close my reactions had long since ceased and the crowd was beginning the get agitated.  There was muttering of cruelty and the line between punishment and torture.  The emcee, noticing the change of mood, came forward to ask for two gentle penetrators.  They came forward and, though my pain remained, it was not added too for a few moments.  When they finished, I was back in my head and the muttering had died enough to entertain the last couple participants.

Part 5

       Towards the end of my ordeal, David came home to an empty house.  It was nearly an unknown situation for him, I hadn’t ever gone or even wished to go anywhere without him before, save for school.  He frowned as he searched the house for a note, surely I wouldn’t leave without leaving some indication.  He passed by the computer in the library and noticed it was still running, though the screen had gone to sleep.  He wiggled he mouse and cursed vividly as he read the website still pulled up onto the screen.  The information and the correlations were not lost on David and his sharp mind put together the pieces easily. 

       “Fuck,” he cursed again as he grabbed his jacket and keys and slammed out of the house.  He raced to the club, having been there before and knowing exactly where it was, and thanked whomever was listening that the cops seemed to be busy elsewhere tonight.  He barely waited for the car to stop before he was out of it and banging on the door.

       The woman who answered looked scandalized at his banging and his scrubs not to mention his arrival hours after the normal closing time. 

       “Sir, the club is closed save for a private party, come another night.” she offered moving to close the door in his face.  He moved his foot to block the door’s passage.

       “Madam, I am here to collect my runaway slave.” he told her coolly, calming himself enough not to storm through the place like the madman raging inside.

       “Your slave . . .” she looked worried, “Come in sir, allow me to fetch my Master.”  she backed up to allow him entry, closed the door behind him and ran for the shadows behind a podium.  It cost him a great deal to stand there patiently while he knew his slave was there, and from the worry in that woman’s tone, suffering.  But it didn’t take too long before a man came in, somehow projecting solidarity and solemnness despite the greasy feel of his soul.

       “I recognized that wretch from the auction, if you bought her, I would shake your hand and call you brother.” he said formally.  At the time, Irish mafia, always nervous and inquisitive anyway, had become unbelievably paranoid due to the trade in flesh and the governments efforts to halt it.  As such, they created a selection of tests for fringe members, such as buyers, to know other members by, this was one of them.  David wasn’t a member of the Irish mafia, not even on the fringe, Uncle Mort however . . .

       He reached forward and instead of taking the procured hand and shaking he reached forward and grasped the man’s elbow.  The man smiled and took David’s elbow and gave it a hearty shake.

       “I can’t claim brotherhood, friend, she was a gift but I will say I was rather fond until this incident.  I moved too quickly, thought her tamed when she was merely pretending, I’ll not make that mistake again.”

       “Cheap gifts, gotta hate that you must appreciate the thought.  They were nearly giving her away, and what with all the scarring and the knee, it’s no surprise, something went wrong with that one.” he tsked.

       “Were they all not like that?” David pretended shock.

       “No, I bought eight myself, girls would stand on their heads all night if I told them too, don’t even need the chains I stocked, except for fun.  Not much to talk too but that’s not really what they’re for anywho eh?” he laughed and David laughed with him.

       “Aye, she’s damn simple but not so broken, must have been a mistake.  Doctor was probably too soft hearted to kill her.  Anyway, I’ll break her, just a matter of time and patience.  Is she ready to go?” he wondered, glancing at the slave hostess as if she would scamper off to fetch her.

       “Well, you see, we’ve done you a huge favor here, brother.  We’ve punished your girl but good for her disobedience and scared her away from running for a good while.  If you would just be so kind as to help us end the show, I would be grateful and you could pack her up and head off.  Of course, if you don’t want to, I’ll understand and go fetch her, but it’s a good message that all this punishment actually came from the one who she wronged.” he offered magnanimously.  Sharp eyes watching him closely.

       “Such a generous offer, I would be happy to help and glad for the assistance.” David could see a challenge when offered; they’d never get out of here if the man thought him weak.

       “Good on ya man!” he roared genially clapping David on the back, “Just come on through this way, give her a few strokes with a nasty whip and formally forgive her and we’ll pack it up.”

       Their timing was surpurb, the flogging they completed with their arrival was a light one comparatively but it had been going on for awhile, I had long since gone senseless and the crowd was getting uncomfortable again.  I wasn’t quite aware of the man stopping but the quiet drew my attention.  I could feel eyes scorching me but couldn’t see where he was.  No, surely I was imagining things; he couldn’t be here.  And even as I tried to slip back into nothingness the emcee’s voice roared from somewhere behind me.

       “Ladies and Gentlemen, doms and subs, we have a delightful treat to end out special delight here tonight.  The treacherous slave’s Master, the very one she ran from this night, is here to finish her punishment and take her home.  Please welcome the girl’s Master.” he stepped back and footsteps approached with a faint slithering sound.  Surely, he was fictionalizing again.  Surely, David was not here.  But as he walked into my line of vision, circling me slowly with the whip dangling from his hand, there could be no mistake.  David was there, and he was not rescuing me.

       CRACK!  The whip sounded furiously and for a moment I wondered if he hadn’t just cracked it in the air to scare me, then I felt it.  Gods above, it was worse than the cane, worse than I remembered.  It ate through my already overpained numbness to hurt more thoroughly, or maybe that was just the individual wielding it.  I knew I had been disobedient but how could he?

       CRACK! again the pause before the pain hit. 

       CRACK!  CRACK!  Two rapid strokes,

       CRACK!  CRACK! CRACK! Three this time.  All the strokes fell on my back and, judging by the blood I could feel flowing, cut deep.  I cried, or I would have if my body had an ounce of liquid to spare.  I knew I deserved everything I’d received but nothing hurt worse than David dishing out more pain. 

       With a clatter, David tossed the whip from him, it had been a long time since he’d used one but he hadn’t lost the skill, I’d wear those marks long after the rest faded.  His hand shook so to nearly disrupt his aim but he soldiered on under the gaze of the greasy slaver.  Now he moved slowly back into my vision.  He cupped my swollen chin and gently kissed my red puffy eyes.  I sighed at the tenderness and promptly passed out.

       I woke up in my own bed, and let out a great laugh of relief.  What a dream!  The world seemed so cheerful today, even with those horrors swimming in my consciousness.  Happily, I reached over to tug the covers off but something tugged back at my arm.  Confused, I peered at my arm and found a little silver needle taped tightly down.  I followed the clear tube it was attached too up and back into a medical bag.  With my other arm I carefully removed the covers to expose my body, I was naked, but as I was at home that didn’t alarm me, what did alarm me was the purple, red, black and blue, bruises, welts and sores that covered my body. 

       I opened my mouth and made to scream but no sound came out, my throat was raw and breathing hurt.  Now that I was in my right mind, everything hurt, but there was a strange fuzzy haziness that told me it should hurt much more than it did.  I looked back up at the bag and suspected strong painkillers. 

       As if on que, David walked in with a large glass of water and mug of broth and came to sit next to me on the edge of the bed.  Silently he handed me the water.  The first sip hurt so much I pushed the glass away but he wouldn’t let me.

       “Drink,” he ordered.  And I took another couple small swallows and he let me push the glass away, “I don’t imagine you can talk yet?” he made the sentence a question but it wasn’t really and he barely acknowledged the small shake of my head in the negative.

       “There are many things that need to be said, but you are healing, on medication that makes you less than cognizant and unable to defend yourself, so I will hold off.  Rest, drink when you can.” he made to leave but I grabbed his wrist tightly.

       “Please,” It was so faint a plea it was barely audible and more of a motion of the lips but he understood.  And knowing me as he did he recognize the plea for what it was; I didn’t want to be left alone.

       “I will stay until you sleep, I have work to do.” If I were hydrated enough to cry I might have then.  It broke my heart that I had hurt our relationship so much that he didn’t want to be around me, that he could be so cold when I was in such pain.  I closed my eyes with pain that was so much worse than any wounds I carried, dropped his wrist as if it had burned me and turned my face away.  He directed my chin lightly back to him.

       “Don’t take it that way, love.  You are still my heart, nothing will change that, for better or worse.” He climbed in bed with me and sat back against the headboard as I curled up on his chest.  He stroked my hair gently and I allowed the drugs to carry me back off into a stupor.

       The next week went by in a medicated haze.  When I was awake, someone was there.  Sometimes it was David, sometimes it was Mort and sometimes it was an older matronish woman who I was later introduced to, Bridget, Mort’s wife.  I discovered later that David was having me watched constantly for a specific reason.  I discovered that reason eight days after my ordeal, the second day I was out of bed and trying to recapture the strands of my normal routine.

       I had gotten out of bed and went downstairs to make breakfast for David before he went to work.  He showered and got ready as he usually did, and we ate but when he was finished and I expected him to head out, he stayed. 

       “I’ve phoned the hospital and told them I’m having car trouble and will be late.  We need to talk.” he said and I nodded and went to sit across the table from him, “Why?”  He asked simply and I knew what he meant.  I’d given it a lot of thought during the past week, during the times when my mind wasn’t fogged by drugs and pain, why had I gone?

       “I think I wanted them to be more than they were.  I wanted them to be beaten down, broken, not empty.  I wanted them to seem more human so I could pretend I am more human.  I think I can’t let go of them because if I get too lost, get too happy, too content, it’ll all be gone and I’ll wake up back at that horrible place and that would be worse than never having left.”  I hadn’t meant to say that last bit, hadn’t even thought it in the last week but the instant it left my mouth I knew it to be truth.

       “What did you learn?” he asked simply, his face composed.

       “I can’t help them, there is no help for them.” I paused, almost unwilling to say the rest, he didn’t urge or hurry me, just waited, “We aren’t human.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you are not the same as those creatures.  You’re not a shell, you are human, even with your unique origin.” He tsked.  I looked down at my own hands, ashamed.

“All I could think of, when . . . that night, was how much I loved you.  How much I just wanted to be back here, waiting for you to get back from work.  How stupid I’d been to disobey.” I kept my eyes on the table.  He put his hands over mine and I smiled waterily.

       “I love you too, my dear Slave, my Siobhan, but I can’t trust you right now.” It hit me hard but I expected as much, I deserved worse, “I am sorry for all you suffered that night, it was a disgusting greedy thing of him to do, and I’m sorry for the part I was forced to play.  I would like to show you the marks, and explain them before I go.” he led me to the tri-mirror in his room and showed me my back.  There, perfectly formed and even, were two symbols.  The one on the left was like a fish standing on its fins and the one on the right looked like a pennant flag.

       “They are runes,” he explained, tracing the spiky symbols, “The first, Othila, represents property, hearth and home.” he paused to let the connotations sink in but before I could ask questions he traced the other, “The other is, Wunjo, joy and love.  They say what you are to me, what you always will be to me, even when you’ve disobeyed and done foolish things for foolish reasons.” He shushed me before I could protest and kissed me gently.  He drew me back downstairs and had me sit on the couch as he drew a chain out from hiding under the couch.  I looked and it attached to the wall in the hall.  He locked the shackle around my ankle and locked it with a strong padlock.

       “It breaks my heart, slave, but for now you are confined to the house and are to remain naked at all times.  Now I know you, I know your intelligence, you could get out and find clothes but I simply suggest you do not pursue such disobedience.” he said it quietly but I heard a world of threat in those words. 

       “I will obey, Master.” I bowed my head.

       “Good girl,” he kissed my forehead and moved out to the door, “Mort will be around later, he was thrilled to hear you are feeling better.” he said and I knew Mort would be reporting back to my Master.  I would not fail him, not again.

       In truth, Mort didn’t turn up for a week, in that time David and I had very little contact.  We slept together but only for the sake of my night terrors, and, unfortunately to my mind, sleep was all we did.  Not only was I still too weak and hurt, inside and out, David was still struggling with my disobedience and his anger and guilt over what happened.

       When Mort finally came for lunch a week later, he was furious.

       “Hell, lass, LuDuis told me you had a brain in your skull!” he railed.  I took the abuse, knowing it was justified, he was looking out for his nephew, “You could have gotten us all killed!”  My head snapped up.

       “What?!” I was sure he was railing because I betrayed David, who’s life had been threatened besides mine?

       “If the big wigs got wind that LuDuis made a slave with brains and that we allowed her to be out wandering and talking, we’d all be under the bloody hammer.  My boss would be first in line with a bat, bastard hates me so.” he spat, his accent thickened as his anger mounted and I was puzzled.

       “You’re boss?” I wondered.

       “The Irish Mob, lass, how’d you think I got into that cattle room, or even met LuDuis, did David never tell you?” his awareness of my confusion batted away some of his righteous anger.

       “Is he . . . ?” I swallowed, I didn’t think I wanted to know if my Master was really just a dilute branch of those who made me.

       “Ta,” he waved his hand dismissively, “He played at joining in school but he was all about being a doctor, and LuDuis doesn’t want another doctor anywhere near his bit, so he moved on.”

       “I didn’t realize.” I whispered, sinking down onto a chair in the kitchen.

       “Really, lass, why did you go after them on your own?” he wondered gently, sitting opposite me.  I explained, best I could, about my turmoil about being test tube born and the similarities.  I don’t think he really understood but he seemed to be done railing at me.

       “And you’re done with that now?” he wondered blandly. 

       “Not like I have a choice.” I raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him and showed him the shackled padlocked about my ankle.  He snorted his distain for so superfluous a restraint.  I raised my eyebrow at him.

       “You expect me to believe you can’t get out of that?” he wondered, dryly.

       “I expect you to believe that the only reason I would is to vex David into a little play, and I’m nearly ready to do that.  I know I did wrong I’m just so sick of being punished for it.  All the bloody pain, every day, and then David looks at me like I’m a fucking leper.  Don’t mistake me, I’m not going anywhere, I just don’t know how much longer I’m going to meekly accept his cold shoulder.”

       “Good on ya then,” he nodded and headed out, pausing only for a moment to appraise my condition, “’Tis a crime that even marked, scarred and discolored as ye are right now, yer the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, save for me dear Bridget.” he added hurriedly, as if his wife was listening.  He kissed my cheek gently and was gone.

       David came home on time that evening, looking a little sheepish.  I was kneeling in the entrance hall, just as I had that first night and every night since he’d chained me.  He leaned down and kissed my forehead then cupped my face with his hand and drew me to my feet.  It was the most intimate touch he’d given in a week.  I smiled, Mort must have rounded on him as well after my frustrated outburst.

       “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about our connection to the mob, I take it for granted sometimes, I forget you would have no way of knowing.” he smiled sheepishly and sat me on the couch to take off the chain.

       “’Tis well, Master, I should have known you had a good reason for not drawing attention.” he knelt in front of me, unlocked the padlocked and rubbed the discomfort out of my ankle.  He then pulled my head close for a rather less chaste kiss that had me breathing hard by the end.  He glanced at the stairs but at that very moment his stomach rumbled.  We laughed and went into the kitchen.

       “Mort isn’t actually your uncle, is he?” I asked finally, I had considered it all day and all the facts led to only one conclusion.  He smiled at me wistfully and nodded.

       “Me da was an immigrant from Ireland and moved into the area and worked for Ma’s folks at a store and they married and inherited the store when Ma’s folks died.  Well, a gang moved into the area soon after I was born and they hounded the owners for ‘protection’ money, well, Da was naive and thought they were on the up and up and sent them off assuring them that he trusted the law to do that job.  They beat him to death and roughed Ma up quite a bit.  A few months later the mob chased out the gang and bought up the neighborhood.  Ma didn’t want to sell but the gang had choked off the neighborhood and she wasn’t making any money and she was deathly sick with me still in swaddling.  One week, Mort came around for the rent and Ma didn’t answer the door.  He went to move on but heard me crying something fierce so he broke in and Ma was gone and I was half starved, there in my crib.  Bridget can’t have children so he took me home.” he finished, looking uncomfortable at divulging so much.  I put my hand over his in silent comfort and he smiled and rubbed the flesh between my thumb and finger with his thumb.

       “How do you feel?” he asked gently.

       “I am well.” I assured him with a smile.  My back was still healing, my bruises still held the color of old parchment and I still hurt quite a bit but even if he had asked the moment we got back, with that light in his eye, I would have said the same thing.  He smiled back, predatorily, and scooped me up in his arms.  I gave a delighted giggle and wrapped my arms tight around his neck as I attached my lips to his.  We had a ways to go but we would heal.

Part 6

       Two weeks after that I was completely healed, even the scars on my back had fresh and delicate pink skin growing.  In light of that, I hesitantly approached my master.

       “Master?” I wondered as he finished his coffee on one rare Sunday he didn’t have work.  He smiled gently at me, encouraging me to continue.  I noticed, after our little debacle, that our paradigm had shifted.  No longer did he cringe from me calling him Master, he encouraged it, required it.  I don’t know if it was a psychological response to my disobedience, requiring him to take a more dominant role or simply that it was the more natural order.  Whatever it was, I certainly was more comfortable with him as Master than David, the subservience was too far ingrained.

       “I am well healed and fit and I was hoping to return to classes tomorrow.” I asked quietly, I wouldn’t have said anything at all but the college had a strict attendance policy and another absence would put me over, even then, it would not prompt me to such liberty but I didn’t want him to have wasted the tuition.  He looked appraisingly at me and sipped at the muddy water I’d refilled his mug with.  It didn’t look like he was making a decision so much as weighing his thoughts.  Finally, he spoke.

       “Of course you can.” he assured me and put his mug back on the table with a light clink.  He paused, so as to say he was moving onto a separate subject entirely, “I want us to play in the basement today.”  I knew he had a dungeon of sorts in the basement, he went down there occasionally for supplies but he’d never brought me down or even alluded to it.

       “Am I to be punished, Master?” I wondered as politely and innocently as I could.

       “Not a punishment pet, just pleasure, I swear it.” he smiled.  I smiled back, reassured and followed him down to where I hadn’t been before.

       It was nice.  Functional to be sure and very obviously exactly what it was named but nice nonetheless.  Clean, brightly lit, with a variety of items that fair shocked me.  It was a large rectangular room with cold stone floors and walls shined to a near polish.  One wall was covered with hooks and shelves holding a vast array of implements of both pain and pleasure.  Another wall had anchors of all shapes, sizes and at every height imaginable.  A couple movable tables and benches littered the floor and there was a small bed in the corner along with several trunks.  I shivered but it wasn’t fear, as I had expected, I was excited.  I trusted him, if he said we were here for pleasure, I could well imagine how pleasurable it could be. 

       He noticed the slight trembling and took me in his arms.

       “Are you okay, pet?” he wondered kindly smoothing my hair.

       “I’m excited, Master.” I admitted and he smiled kindly.

       “We will take it easy today, just an introduction.” he promised.  He took my hand and lead me over to a particularly movable table.  He kissed me hard and guided my ass to the very edge and when he leaned back to draw breath he pushed me down to lie half off the table.  He pulled a belt over my waist and cinched it tight to the table, almost too tight.  Two straps went cross-wise over my chest, leaving the breasts perfectly exposed.  Two almost separate boards at my shoulders were where my arms were strapped, at the end was a small leather pouch for my hands, as if I could have done anything with them.  One strap went at my neck, thankfully not that tight.  He left my head then and went down to my legs.  I watched him curiously, the edge of the table was digging into the middle of my ass where the rest hung off the edge.  He operated a lever right under my ass and two boards sprang up and out like stirrups but solid.  Guided by the level of discomfort displayed on my face, he moved the boards out and up more until I whimpered, then he retracted a bit, locked the boards and strapped my legs in place.  Completely immobile, I just watched and waited.

       “I’m going to take most of your senses, I just want you to feel.” he whispered into my ear before producing a blindfold, earplugs and muffs and a nose plug.  Gently he put all in its place until I was in darkness and silence, an ocean of nothing, not even the familiar spicy smell I associated with my Master.  He tightened one last strap over my forehead and vanished from my knowledge. 

       My whole self was keyed up and on edge, waiting, waiting.  His finger brushed my collarbone and I sighed.  A gentle touch to my toe, a caress of my calf, a stroke of my stomach, a pat on my shoulder; he was driving me mad.  Suddenly, a vibration hit my very wide and exposed pussy.  I gasped but it came out a low moan.  Unlike the little touches, this vibration didn’t go away, in fact once it was lined up to my vagina it began to enter.  I was so ready it slid in without hesitation.  I gripped it desperately with my muscles and it stayed pulsing gently.  I enjoyed it but it certainly wasn’t enough to push me over any cliff.  Then those teasing fingers were back tracing unknowable patterns on my skin.  Just when I might have begun to be bored, the vibrations in my vagina began to move, out and in, out and in very slow but gaining in speed, out and in out an in, and then the vibrations knocked up a level, outandinoutandin, and the vibration kicked up a few dozen levels and there was something new pressing on my clit.  I was moaning, loud and true and I hadn’t noticed the fingers had vanished until . . .

       A blinding pain cut through my temporary bliss and I screamed.  It didn’t reoccur, maybe my reaction had convinced him to start lighter.  I was back in riding the high in a moment and just as the peak hit me and everything tensed, there was another blinding searing pain on the inside of my thigh.  It couldn’t stop the high and I rode the wave down only vaguely aware I hurt.  The, I assumed it was a fucking machine, slowed down for a moment to give me time to catch my breath but it started up in barely a moment, harder and faster than it had before.  Inandoutinandout until I peaked again, then a third and fourth time in rapid succession since the machine didn’t slow down again.  Then, it took a turn, we had reached the junction where pleasure was becoming painful, I was breathing hard, throat sore from screaming my delight, and the machine was cooling off again, I assumed we were done.  I was wrong.  Without, even as much time as I got the first time the machine was off again, harder and faster even, I didn’t think it could have gotten harder or faster.  My vagina hurt from the rapid thrusting and my clit was so supersensitive tears were beginning to soak my blindfold from it being touched.  Another climax rocked my body and I began to beg for the end.  Finally, the machine slowed and stopped and was removed and I cried in relief.  Until something very cold and very large touched my oversensitive vagina. 

       “No, please Master no more.” I sobbed but my pleas were ignored.  The machine was lined up and turned on and I screamed as the giant cold thing slid into my overused pussy.  It was so unimaginably huge it was only going in slowly, with difficulty even in my over slicked canal.  Finally, it was all in and the vibrations started.  I cried.  It wasn’t even remotely pleasurable anymore.  I struggled uselessly against the bonds and tried to make my muscles expel it but it was a loosing battle and before long the strokes began anew.  In and out, in and out, in and out in and out inandoutinandout, I had long since lost my voice from screaming then the vibrations kicked up to high and a small prong vibrated at my clit.  I felt like if it fell off I would be so happy.  Then the flogger hit skin. 

       “Please, Master, you promised, what have I done?  I’m sorry.” I cried, it was garbled but understandable.  The cry was ignored and the flogger continued to fall.  It was many tailed but a firm one and it didn’t fall just the once, it hit over and over again in rapid succession until my consciousness gladly fled from over stimulation. 

       I woke to the smell of ammonia from smelling salts.  Gently, my Master removed the strap from my forehead and rubbed out the mark from my straining against it.  The one at my neck was next and I sobbed as his fingers brushed over a welt.  The noseplugs came next and I was too distraught to notice the smell.  The earmuffs and plugs went next and then the blindfold and I was looking, slightly accusingly, up at the greasy man from Chrome.  I gasped and struggled a bit.

       “Master?” I wondered, searching as much as my prone position would allow.

       “Shh, slave, calm down, I am your Master now.” he assured me, I was far from assured.

       “No, Master David!” I called as he released my arms and chest.  It allowed me to sit up most of the way and look between my legs at the most painful sight I had witnessed.  My Master, the man I loved and thought loved me was being pleasured, thoroughly it seemed, by three of the silicone sisters.  One was vigorously deepthroating his cock, one was massaging his neck and shoulders and the last straddled his lap and laving his nipples.  He had his head thrown back as ecstasy overtook him and he breathed deep.  I threw myself back on the table with a gut-wrenching sob as the man silently unfastened the rest of the belts.

       “I’m afraid, girl, he’s sold you to me for a few of my girls, turns out eight is just too many, and I love a challenge.  He helped me to stand and I tried to run but only one step brought me to the ground hard, sobbing in pain both emotional and physical.

       “Now there, none of that.” he tsked and whisked me off, up the stairs and into the trunk of his car with drugs coursing my veins without even a moment’s pause.

       I woke, dazed and confused with a killer headache, sitting propped against a stone wall on a stone floor.  My wrists were chained to opposite ends of a bar above me and there was a steel band around my neck.  I knew better than to struggle; my Master would let me out when he was good and ready and not a moment before.  The truth hit me like a fist to the gut and I would have doubled over in pain if my wrists were free.  My Master sold me to the greasy-souled club owner.  My Master sold me.  Had he been planning it or was this in response to my request to return to school? My vagina and skin still hurt from the fucking and the flogger, had that been planned or had his fury at my betrayal overwhelmed him?  Before I might have dismissed the idea, he would never hit me in anger, then again, he would never sell me either.  Could I be mistaken, was this forced?  The pleasure on his face didn’t look forced.  Why would he sell me?  On and on my mind spiraled into a black despair, and just when I thought I would just be left there to suffer, the man showed up.

       “Now little one, do you understand your place, can you tell me what I want to hear?” he wondered.

       “I am a free-woman, you have no right to hold me here.” I recited coldly, it was technically true, David had said I was free to come and go as I pleased.

       “No bitch, you are nothing, you are property, a slave, fuckmeat.” he said, not cruelly, just matter-of-fact. 

       “I am a free-woman, you have no right to hold me here.” I repeated, in the same flat tone. 

       “Alright then, bitch, tell me when you change your mind.” he sighed.  He did not say ‘if’ and I felt a stab of fear as he bent down and clipped a chain to my ankles, which I just noticed were shackled together, and drew the other end through a loop and then clipped it to my collar.  With a crank of a lever, my arms began to rise and me with it, I scrambled to stand but the chain wouldn’t let me stand straight I was left, bent over completely as my hands continued to rise.  Finally, it stopped and he left, closing the door behind him before I got a glimpse of the dimensions of the room.  I didn’t know until then and I’m not sure if he knew or just guessed or if it even mattered, but I am claustrophobic.  Terrified of being shut into a small space and not just shut in, because if you’re shut in you can just open the door, I was terrified of being locked in.  The only reason I wasn’t screaming at the moment was that I didn’t actually know how small the room was.  Don’t misunderstand, my phobia was hardly that reasonable and a considerable part of me wanted to start screaming but the stubborn side wouldn’t let it.  He wanted to break me.  He wanted me to beg and plead and cry.  I wouldn’t.  Not until the last grain of sense had left my body.  Of course, I didn’t really take into account the crucifixion.  I had already figured out what the eventuality of my position was.  My legs would give out, sooner or later, they would cramp then just give.  You see, the chain forced me to either crouch or bend, the former restful for my aching back and the latter for my acing legs, but given an excess of time, both would give and I would be hanging from my arms, which would slowly compress my chest and suffocate me, the very definition of crucifixion.        

       I lost track of time completely down there.  A second lasted for an eternity, a minute was longer than I could track.  At first, I tried to keep count but as my legs and back started to burn and my eyes began to adjust, I lost track.  It was apparent they were prepared to keep me there as long as it took, there was an IV in my arm keeping me hydrated and fed I assumed.  I heard things down there, scuttling, snuffling, awful sounds I can’t even describe.  Sometimes I imagined that something had brushed past me.  It could have been real but I told myself firmly it was my imagination.  Then I saw the walls.  My eyes had adjusted just enough to make out where the floor seemed to end and the wall began.  They moved a lot, and I knew that was all in my head, I couldn’t actually see the walls at all but my phobia became to overcome my sense and my stubbornness and the latter two eroded.  I tried to scream, but I wasn’t getting enough air.  I settled into a mantra of almost incoherent pleading.   That grew more desperate when the walls got closer and quieted when the moved back a bit.  My legs gave out completely and I hung from the ceiling by my wrists.    My mouth was still forming those pleading words but I wasn’t getting enough air to say anything.  Just when I expected my ticket punched, he came back. 

       I hadn’t heard any lock open but he opened the door the light rushed in and blinded me.  He undid the fastenings on my wrists and lowered me to the ground gently so he could undo the rest of them.  He pulled me out into a brightly lit, almost surgical room, and looked at me as my breathing returned to normal. 

       “Are you ready to say and do what I want?” he asked quietly.  I nodded and sobbed and kissed his feet.  He kicked me off him and growled, “Then say it.”

       “I am your slave.” I cried, nearing the very fringes of my sanity. 

       “Who am I?”

       “Master.” he nodded and pulled his cock from his pants.

       “I think you know what to do.” he motioned his cock coldly.  I took it into my mouth, filled with self-disgust and loathing, and gave him what might have been the best blow-job he’d ever had.  He certainly had no complaints and he pumped into my throat and loosed his load.  I swallowed it all and gently laved his cock until it was clean then held it in my mouth waiting for the next order.  He chuckled, pushed me off his cock and stuffed it back in his pants.

       “I’m glad you are a quick learner.” he snapped his fingers and one of the silicone sisters came at his call, “Take her, clean her and get rid of all that troublesome hair, laser after so we don’t have to do this again, then get her suited up and prime the pumps, I’ll check back in an hour.  You’re going to behave for my slave.” it wasn’t a question and he left.  That was it, it seems like such a foolish thing to be the last straw but it was.  My Master who I loved and who I thought loved me sold me to a kidnapper who had so easily broken my defenses and now I was to permanently loose all of my gorgeous red hair.  Maybe it was the permanence that hit me, everything thus far could be undone, but laser hair removal was final. 

       I followed the slave docily into the shower room and she shaved every inch of my body, excepting my eyebrows, although she trimmed them to bare lines.  She took a powerful shower head and instructed me to soap myself then sprayed me down, and again just for good measure.  Then she dried me and took the laser to every inch, bald, everywhere, permanently.  That’s when it happened, the break, that was it.  Oddly, she then put her mouth to my breasts and sucked hard, stopping after barely a moment.  When she went to get several leather goods I didn’t even notice, I didn’t even fidget.  Over my head went a leather hood that she tightened with laces at the back to press hard against my skin.  It was open at the eyes, nose, although there were inserts and mouth, closed at the ears but I could still hear.  Once it was tightened properly it was locked in the back to the collar that was still about my throat.  Overtop went a head harness with a large bit gag, like a pony harness.  It was tightened and closed my teeth and lips forcibly against the bit.  It locked again in the back and the lock that held my hood on was closed finally.  My wrists were enclosed in steel cuffs with soft lining and they were locked to each side of my collar and my feet were cuffed to either end of a four foot spreader bar.  Next came a black marker to my chest and she moved me to the mirror so I could see it.

MILKSACKS

       She moved the marker to my mound then showed me:

FIST HOLDER

       She went around the back and scrawled across my shoulder blades:

WHIPPING POST

       Then over my ass cheeks:

FUCK HOLE

       Tears streamed down my cheeks as I saw the hard black lines and he came back just in time to see me cry.

       “Beautifully done, slave.” he smiled at the girl who bowed low and raced out, “Now Bitch, you will understand your place by the end of the night.” he clipped a leash to my collar and tugged just as my will reasserted itself.  Understand my place indeed!  I was a freewoman!  I struggled a bit but I was too far bound to do much and he smiled at my struggles, “Now then, you’ll entertain my costumers in however they want and I suggest you enjoy yourself tonight, it will be your last opportunity to do so for a long time.”  He led me up the stairs by the leash.  It was only then I noticed my breasts were larger than usual.  I reflected back to the slave sucking on them and noticed they were leaking, horrified I glanced up at the man who grinned, seemingly waiting for me to put two and two together.  I was lactating.  Apparently, glucose and water weren’t the only things in that IV.

       I can’t even describe the horrors that night saw on my flesh.  The marked labels on my flesh were taken as wrote and treated as such.  I was lucky no one had a whip or cane that night or I might have bled to death.  As it was my pussy had never had a fist and there was tearing and blood, my breasts had never produced milk and individuals were not gentle with their collection, and even less once the tap dried so to speak. 

       They took me back to the dungeon once I collapsed taking two men, one fisting one fucking down with me.  I was in bad shape by the time they began seeing to me, certainly, in no shape to entertain the next night, much to the greasy man’s fury.  I was cared for gently that day but as night drew closer, the greasy man formed a plan.  He wasn’t willing to let my suffering effect his cash flow so he developed a plan.

       “Lets get a hood and paint her.” he growled at two of the sisters.  They snapped too immediately and another hood was fit over my face, this one had a breathing apparatus because there was no holes for me to breath through and it was airtight.  They posed me then, with my legs far apart and my body bent at the waist, displaying my cunt and asshole.  My arms were put behind my head as if displaying my breasts which were hanging low due to their new weight.  I then felt the brushes as a tar-like substance was applied liberally to my body.  It wasn’t simple paint, or even anything like liquid latex.  I still don’t know exactly what it was but it hardened like rock.  The only parts of my body left uncovered were my pussy and asshole.  It was another dreadful night but not as bad as any before.  I wasn’t able or required to participate, I couldn’t move and the coating didn’t allow for stretching so they put a vibrator in my pussy so no one would shove their fist in me and damage me.  I was just ass-fucked all night, and after the first couple, it was nothing.  Since I couldn’t let myself be introspective and still hang onto my sanity, I began to listen to what was going on around me, luckily the hood was not sound-proof at all 

       “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, I hope everyone is enjoying our statue-ass.” he said, forcing the joke.  Some people laughed politely but mostly I heard crickets.  I grinned in my head; “The sisters have a fantastic show planned for you tonight.  The first eight to the sales desk with the normal fee will be included in the show and be able to take your own sister to the dungeon for an hour afterward.” there was a little movement.  I wondered how these people would feel if they knew they were using and abusing genetically formulated shells.  I wondered how people could possibly enjoy doing anything to those creatures that probably have no reaction to it.  I wondered if the greasy man orders them to give certain responses.  I wondered if they could have orgasms, or if their orgasms were anything more than biological.  I wondered how much it cost for an hour with one of the eight silicone sisters.  Then I stopped wondering.  What might have been the last living spark in my mind ignited a fire that had me struggling against the rock paint.  Eight!  How could there still be eight sisters?  They sold three to my master!  I began to feel lightheaded, the adrenaline that rushed into my system on that discovery was forcing my heart to pump faster but the breathing apparatus was not designed to speed up and slow down.  I forced myself to calm down and think carefully before I passed out.

       I was right all along.  My master would never sell me; he loved me.  I flashed back to the dungeon when I was taken.  It had looked then as if he was slumped in ecstasy, but it could just as easily been unconsciousness.  I flicked mercilessly through the knowns and unknowns in my mind.  He would never let his slaves perform every night and anyway he wasn’t interested in mindless slavery, or even forced slavery.  He hadn’t touched me for weeks because he wasn’t sure I was willing.  Then my mind paused and an evil voice whispered, Are you sure?  What if I was wrong?  What if Mort was wrong?  What if he had been looking to get rid of me since day one?  But that chain of logic snapped easily.  If he wanted to be rid of me he wouldn’t have come after me, he would have left me to the tender mercies of Chrome and its manager.  My mind flashed to that night and to the revelation the week later when I was well enough to stand.  The runes on my back, property and love.  He would never sell me.

       At peace with this, my mind worked furiously to plan.  David hadn’t sold me; he was in danger.  He hadn’t sold me so I was stolen and David wouldn’t have willingly let that happen.  He was there, presumably unconscious, when I left so he either was left, under guard, or killed.  My mind shied away from the later, I wouldn’t survive if they’d killed him, it was bad enough thinking he didn’t want me.  They could have surprised him and taken him down before he knew who they were but I doubted that.  Even were it the case, David was smart enough to figure out who was likeliest to do it and they probably posted my arrival on their website.  All that was left was he was under guard at his own house or he was in the dungeon here.  There is no way they would leave him in his familiar surroundings, give him the chance to retaliate or escape.  He was here.  My heart soared.  I would find him and I would kill anyone that got in my way.