We enter the novice room in silence. Unlike most other rooms, this one contains the widest assortment of tools. Whips, clamps, flogs, flails, gags, hoods and cuffs all line the walls and tables. Many other torture rooms down here tend to be more specialized. The whipping room, the water room, the stretching room. This has a little of everything. Scattered thought the large room are sex swings, riding posts, a few cages. Things to put a slave in every conceivable position. As I enter, with my two slaves silently behind me, I see Tracy is right where I’ve instructed she be put. She hangs from the ceiling and wall, restrained. Chains cuffed to her wrists and a chain cuffed to the thick leather strap around her waist anchor her to the ceiling and wall, respectively. Tight leather straps, not unlike a waist belt, lash her ankles to her upper thigh, doubling her leg. Similarly, her arms are lashed back onto themselves. When she squirms, all she can do is pathetically flail her elbows and knees. Cuffed to her knees is a spread bar, keeping her legs open at an uncomfortable width. Nose hooks pull her nostrils up, and are attached up and over her head to the back of the choker she wears around her neck. She wears nothing else, save her fear.
The moment I opened the door, a low repetitive plea for help filled my ears, broken up only by sobs of pathetic self indulgence. As I enter, she cuts a sob midway through and begins begging directly to me.
“Pleeeeeease let m-m-me goooooooo.” Renewed tears fall from her face as she pleads to my sensibilities. Stupid woman, I have no sensibilities.
I stand, fully nude, before her. Behind me is a bare stone topped table. I’ve had her chained directly across from it, for a reason. The table run parallel to her, so she can see everything I’m about to do. My cock, still partially erect, twitches in glee and the thought.
“Every time you beg to be set free, or for me to stop, I shall paddle your breasts. Keep it up, and I’ll do it until they fall off. Scream and cry in pain, just never ask anything of me. You are my property now, nothing else. It is YOU who will be asked things of. Do you understand?”
A tiny temper tantrum passes through her, as she helplessly flails against her bonds. After tiring herself out, she takes a moment to pant before whining. “Pleeeease dooon’t! I wanna go hooo-sniff-ooom!”
I turn away in disgust. “I warned you. Whore! The five pound paddle.” Off to the right, the Post was holding a silver tray. Whore 2, who had until recently been stroking her left nipple with a latex clothed hand, walked over and picked up the paddle I’d asked for. Walking over to me, she kept her eyes on Tracy.
“Here you are daddy.”
I waved her off and turned to Tracy.
“Five paddles then?” I asked my restrained toy.
“Nooooo” She wails.
“Ten then.”
“Noooo, wait.”
“Fifteen it is.” I smile inwardly, letting a smile slip through.
Tracy flinches, trying to pull away. But she has no anchor and can’t do much to exit my path. “Please noooo.”
“Twenty it is, and I think it best that I do it so hard all you can do is scream, lest you beg some more.”
“Wait!” She commands. Stupid slut, I command. The paddle whistles through the air before connecting with her left tit. The smack is so sharp the noise hurts my ear. Immediately, Tracy begins screaming, a spasm of pain causing her to bounce around in her suspension.
“One.” I calmly say. “Only twenty four more.” The paddle comes down again, this time on her other breast. The sound of the hit is drowned out by Tracy’s scream of anticipation. I forgive her the reaction. I train that out of them later on. For now, it will be enough for her to learn to do my bidding out of simple self preservation. That is the first step.
I bring the paddle down again and again. With such small breasts as Tracy has, cute little A cups with beautiful pink nipples, the paddle I use has a face wider than their target. Instead, much of the blow lands on her chest proper. Slaps nine, ten and eleven land only half on, smacking the ends of the tips, before passing below. She screams louder. I didn’t think that possible. I’ll need to continue aiming to the tips instead of the full breast. I continue to bring the solid wood face of the paddle down on her tits in turn. Screaming so loud and so long, Tracy’s voice begins to go raw early on. Slap, slap, slap. The red welts that her tits had become now have a dark blue and purple tinge settling deep into them. The bruises are so much more tender than the rest of her body, and make the last five slaps an exercise in hell for her.
“Twenty five.” Slap.
“AAAAAHHHHHRGGHHH!” Tracy yelps. The final respite leaves her a chance to pant for air. She begins crying in earnest, like a small child would. The sight of this girl, in so much pain caused by my hand, trussed up like a kinky cockwhore, crying away all her pain and shame has me fully erect. I look over at Whore 2. She is pinching a nipple, twisting it gently. Her knees are bent, ever so slightly.
“Would you like to beg for me to let you go?”
A weak head shake from her matted blond head serves as answer enough.
“Whore, take the paddle.” She walks over and takes it the wooden instrument from my out stretched hand. The sound of her heals and the squeak of her latex suit tells me she walks over to the Post to replace it to the tray.
“You studied women’s something or other in school right?” I ask, not really caring. Tracy’s head bobs up and down, still to weak to be anything other than limp. “Women aren’t anything. They are things to do with. They’re holes to be fucked, and bodies to be beaten. You will learn this.”
From behind a veiled of blond hair, Tracy tries to look up to me. “Fuck you.”
“What?” I ask, a little startled. I’d thought to make her too weak to say anything stupid.
“This is evil, you sick fuck.” She weakly spits out, putting all her hate into those quivering words. I have a sudden urge to take one of the flogging clubs and hit her exposed pussy over and over. But her spreading pole is in the way. Stupid, I should have just had her knees chained to the wall behind her.
“Whore, bring me the five pound paddle. The one with nails.” I’d rather not scar her so early, but she will learn. Whore 2 begins to walk to the Post in order to bring me the paddle, when,
“I’m sorry”. The choked whisper escapes Tracy, almost to quiet to hear. Her head is still raised, but she’s no longer looking at me. Her gaze is downcast and off the her left.
“What did you say?”
“I-I’m,” she clears her hoarse throat and tries again, bolder. “I’m sorry.”
I cross the distance separating her and me in an instant. I reach into her, quickly grasping her small mound of pubic hair and give it a firm tug. Thousands of little needle pricks bite deep into her crotch, as the skin gets pulled tight.
“Ahhh!” She cries.
“You’re fucking damn well rights you’re sorry. And you’ll be more than sorry if you ever, EVER, do anything so stupid as to think for yourself again. You are mine! Do anything so stupid again, and I won’t kill you for days. You’ll wished I had. You’ll over to rape your own mother with a butchers knife if it meant I’d only stop and kill you. Death is a reward. Unending torture is the only punishment. Do you understand me?”