The Breaking of Tracy part 2 by Mr.Hurt
A rich slave trainer has a new toy. But before training her, a demonstration is required. , The Breaking of Tracy
part 2
Preparations
I personally have four bedrooms at the estate. My main bedroom is on the third floor and is decorated in imported Italian marble. The bathroom is the size of a low income house in most civilized worlds. No one but myself and the cleaning slaves are allowed in. I have a main floor bedroom near the back of the main house I use for overnight fucking. It has a beautiful four poster antique bed made out of richly carved oak. I maintain this room for having one of my slaves as overnight entertainment, often restrained spread eagle to the bed posts. A third yet is kept downstairs, near the training quarters. I’ve often referred to this room as the ‘Pain and Pleasure’ suite. It comes with all the opulent comforts the others offer, though containing more specialized equipment. Riding horses, racks, anything I’d like to use in order hurt one of my well behaved slaves for a night of pleasant agony. The fourth is more serious. I call it the work bedroom. It’s more barren. I keep a small closet that contains a single change of clothes. I call this the work room because of it’s direct proximity to the training quarters. The estate staff knows that when I take up residence, I have my mind on training a girl and little else. I use it to sleep, wash and little else. I’ve just had Baby have to room turned over so that it will be ready for me. I intend to stay five to six days, uninterrupted downstairs. No business, no other pleasure…save that which Tracy is soon to provide. The staff both enjoy and dread my times downstairs. My tenure in the work bedroom leaves them with the closest thing to a vacation.
Furniture is on standby, the art may retire to their rooms for most of the day, and few, if any, beatings and rapings are administered. They cherish the respite. But each and every slave I have ever trained has known the other end of this time as well. They know the constant drilling I will admonish, as they too knew it to varying degrees. As I understand it, even Mistress Bitchcraft has planned a small vacation to America. I believe it’s to an old lover, a Mistress Mary, if I’m not mistaken. I’ve had the opportunity to meet the woman once. Suffice to say, were Mary not as wealthy as I, she would have been my first choice in disciplinarian. But I digress. Tracy.
As I organize the few papers I have before me, I snap my fingers absently as a summons. The short, awkward steps which heralds Baby’s approach.
“Yes daddy?”
Without looking up, I address my most loyal of whores. “I’ll be moving downstairs for just short of a week. I believe the wine cellar is low on Chateau Lagrange. Have it restocked, and take a recommendation from Jeanne-Marie from Reims, I think she had some of the Moet I wanted. Hold any calls or requests until I come back upstairs.”
“Yes daddy. And the request from Mr. Zheng for a fresh delivery, what shall I tell him?”
I think for a moment. But only a moment. A Chinese captain of industry had recently enquired about getting a custom trained Japanese slave. The price is right, but I work on my own timetable.
“Have the team do some preliminary research in a couple of days. A girl who can understand English and Chinese would be ideal. If Mr. Zheng calls, inform him I’m looking into the matter, and will call back in a couple of days.”
“Very good daddy.” What would I do without her? Perhaps if all goes well, I’ll let her rub against my leg until she cums once I’m done with the first phase of Tracy’s training. As I stand and ready to leave the study, I notice the table’s eyes glance up. Only for a moment, hardly even a second. But not even an hour ago, I’d had to discipline her. Really, you can’t let insubordination like this slide. My bare foot shoots out and catches her in the side of the face. Her head snaps to the side, causing her to lose her precarious balance. All at once she tips over to the side, letting the crystal table top crash to the ground.
“Ugh. This is the one with the younger sister in Yorkshire?” I ask Baby.
“Y-yes daddy.” Baby can already tell what I’m thinking. Just so, this type of behavior is unacceptable.
“Good. Have her hospitalized from a gang rape. And cut this ones nipples off.” Despite what I’m saying, no hint of anger ebbs into my voice. Something closer to exasperation reaches through. On the ground, the coffee table coughs. “Please…no.”
“Make sure her sister will never conceive a child either, Baby. And break the table’s knees with a hammer. Or would you like to beg me not to again?”
A quiet resolve passes over the table as her head drops. She remembers her place once again. Good. Baby will have one of the other slaves take her place until she heals. In the meantime, she’ll go through a refresher at the hands of Mistress Bitchcraft. I stand a moment longer, watching the red headed table quietly eat her sobs of sorrow through a stream of silent tears before I turn to go. She’s disgusted with her acceptance. Good. It’s time.
Upstairs, despite the central air, is hot. Which is why I wear nothing more than a silk robe and Egyptian cotton boxer-briefs. Downstairs, the temperature is cooler. I, however, work nude. I walk past Baby, who lowers her head in subservience as I pass, and cross the hall. Turning away from the main entrance, I make my way to the back stairs. These lead both up to the slave quarters, and down to the dungeons. I had these parts of the main house connected by this stairway as a constant common reminder to all the slaves. ‘Yes’, it silently says to them, ‘You no longer need to go downstairs and be trained. But you come from there and can return for discipline.’ It is a constant, silent reminder that they had better obey.
My open robe billows as I as make my way down. Twenty feet below leads to a bricked tunnel leading underneath the main hall. I walk the length, almost giddy. At the solid wooden door at the end of the tunnel, which is designed with medieval sensibilities in mind, stands on of the Whores. The Whores are the three dungeon slaves. They serve the same position as the Sluts for the upper estate, though they deal more directly in the abuse and degradation called ‘training’. The five foot six Whore at the door wears the standard Whore garb, a full body latex suite. It covers every inch of her shapely figure save for her eyes, mouth, tits and cunt. It’s even fashioned to have individual toe sleeves, similar to those stupid trendy socks that are becoming popular. The choker around her neck as a silver ‘2’ etched onto it. Whore 2, she was the politicians daughter I believe.
“Is everything ready for me?”
Without looking at me, she nods. “Yes daddy. The girl has been chained to the wall and gagged. She was inspected when she was cleaned, and is in perfect health. You’re room has been serviced, and is ready. A cow is waiting in the adjoining room from the novice room with Whore 3. Is there anything else we can do for you?”