Note: This is a chapter of a projected consensual S and M novel.
*
It was her second day at the Institute. She was stiff, sore, and sticky from yesterday's 'orientation.' After a light breakfast and her normal enema, douche and shower routine, Rose was ordered into her tightest girdle. This wasn't unusual, but her Trainer seemed to be tense, and more abrupt than yesterday. She feed off his mood. Not knowing what lay ahead, she was so nervous he had to help tug the garment up over her hips. Struggling with hose and garters, she was all thumbs, but finally, seams straight, garter tabs smooth, she slid her feet into the 5 inch heeled red pumps laid out for her. The wide ankle straps securing them were required by her Master, not the fashion world.
Corsets were still used for punishment, of course, but the tight, open bottom girdles served for daily wear at the Institute, gave easy access, and the women could dress unassisted.
The tight under-wire bra was always uncomfortable, but matched the girdle.
Wristlets latched together, she was bent over for her 'daily dozen'. This morning the cane was selected and she cried out as six parallel welts were added to her bruised ass, and six more marked her thighs. Tears dried, she applied her makeup like a pro, then slipped on the short red chiffon dress, fumbling with the buttons beneath the ruffles.
Allowed a mist of perfume, the leash was snapped to her collar and she was led at a fast walk outside to another building, one not included on yesterday's tour.
The sign over the door read simply "Building 10." Even without specifics, she had a general idea what took place in there, and a deep, involuntary shudder wracked her as they entered.
Like her dormitory, the central hall was plain, with numbered doors opening to each side. Muffled sounds from behind some of the doors gave no hint of the inner activities.
The procession stopped at a door bearing a brass "17."
"This is it, bitch," the Trainer said. A discrete tap on the door and they entered.
She blinked in the bright light after the dim hall. Then she began shivering in dread as she scanned the room's equipment. Some she knew or could guess their probable uses: the exam table with stirrups and straps, the whipping post, the ceiling hook swaying on its chain. Other pieces were unknown.
A commotion at the hall door caused her to turn and stare.
Two Trainers were literally dragging in a struggling, whimpering woman. 'Please, nooo, please noo...' seemed to be her entire vocabulary. Moving with practiced efficiency, the Trainers soon had her dress off and ankles shackled together in a twinkling.
Rose watched with rising apprehension as the newcomer was stripped. This woman wore bruises and welts matching hers, so she obviously had been at the Institute for more than a couple of days. She apparently knew what tortures were used in this room.. It must be pretty extreme for her to break training, begging like that.
Now Rose became truly frightened. She had never dreamed of resisting the Trainers like this sobbing woman, but she began shaking uncontrollably and felt the blood drain from her face. A tiny smile raced across her lips at the irony that not even her heavy whore's makeup could give her color now.
Once the other woman was secured by her collar and ankles, they released her arms, leaving rows of fingertip bruises up and down the flesh in testimony of her struggles. When they ordered her to remove her bra, she openly sobbed and begged in earnest. At her refusal, one Trainer grabbed a handful of blond hair and jerked her head far enough back to thrust her torso forward. The other Trainer then applied five powerful strokes with a limber fiberglass cane across her presented breasts. Her shrieks made the room ring. Still restrained by her hair, the order was repeated. This time, she reached up behind and unhooked the offending bra. When she refused to put her arms out in front to take the straps of the offered chain-mail bra, the hair pulling and tit caning were repeated. Her screams and begging were stifled with a large cock-gag shoved deep into her throat and buckled behind her neck tightly.
Staring slack-jawed at the punished blonde, Rose had automatically obeyed her own Trainer and removed her dress and bra and obediently accepted the cold chain harness. As the device was adjusted, the weight of her breasts dug the chains into her shoulders. The 'under-wire', a thick iron bar, was unyielding.
"Anticipation is so much a part of the experience, ours and yours," her Trainer said, "so we want you to witness Donna's session first."
Although she had a million questions, Rose was better trained than to ask any of them, merely nodding her head in submission and acceptance.
The beaten blonde, Donna, was still weeping, but, thanks to the merciful gag, it was mostly just snuffling. She was dragged over to a dildo stanchion, The phallus was raised until she could barely straddle it, then, ankles unlocked, she was made to spread her legs and impale herself on the fake dick. Once it was fully inserted, her wrists were hooked to the dangling ceiling chain, and both she and the dildo were raised until only her tip toes were on the floor. Like a ballerina, she stood en pointe as her cunt supported most of her weight. Then her wrists were winched up further, taking the pressure off her crotch. When her feet swung free of the floor, a 3 ft spreader bar was hooked to her ankle restraints. Once splayed, she was then lowered until her toes again found earth. Legs spread, she sank down further than with the insertion. But the dildo hadn't been lowered, so she endured deeper, bruising penetration. Her muffled cries from behind the gag spoke her agony. The desperation to spare her cunt put severe strain on her legs, far beyond what even her 5 inch heels provided. Calf and thigh muscles contorted, and eventually would cramp, adding to her distress.
'Lucky slut,' thought Rose as she watched the process. Her own cunt itched and became moist at the sight of Donna's struggles. 'Oh, to be reamed like that,' Rose thought wistfully.
Once the bondage was complete, one of the Trainers spoke softly into an intercom panel beside the door. Receiving an answer, he glanced at the impaled woman, nodded to his partner and said only, "Twenty-five."
The cane again whistled through the air as the girl took twenty-five strokes across the back of her thighs. Without the gag, the walls might have surely cracked with her piercing screams. Because of the pole splitting her, she was denied even the small mercy of moving about under the cane's terrible punishment. So she held as motionless as possible and endured the maximum pain, which was the design of the bondage, after all.
Wide-eyed, Rose had watched the punishment with growing distress. True, she got off on bondage and some low level whipping, but not full strength caning. That hurt for real. She needed the helplessness and the pain, but not to that intensity.
Rose and her Master had discussed all this before. She even was the one who suggested the Institute to complete her training and push her limits for suffering. This was all voluntary. No one had to coerce her. Despite her temporary misgivings and fear, Rose craved her turn under the cane.
Ordered her to her knees, Rose automatically gripped her own spike heels as the wrist and ankle restraints were hooked together. Even if she dreaded the cane, she was still a well trained slut, and proud of her endurance. Watching the caning was exciting. Her own cunt was seething, and she was grateful to be on her knees. Rose could work her thighs together and stimulate her clit with no one the wiser.
Again the hall door opened. Two men and a woman entered. Not subs or Trainers, they obviously were Masters and a Mistress. The men wore casual slacks, sport shirts and gleaming leather loafers. The red haired woman wore a short sheath dress of pale green, black hose, and emerald green pumps.. All three wore heavy gold necklaces bearing the Institute's logo.
On seeing the visitors, Donna began jerking about and squealing once again.
"Hello, Donna," one of the men greeted her.
Pinching and twisting both the bound girl's nipples, the woman cooed, "Remember me, slut?"
"Of course she does, don't you, Donna?" the other man offered. "After all, we did see her just yesterday."
All three laughed at the jest as the poor bitch struggled in vain to escape the cruel fingers working her buds.
"Would you like some refreshments?" one of the men asked.
Receiving a round of nodded consent, he turned to the Trainers and ordered coffee and drinks for all three. At his gesture, chairs and a shrouded cart were rolled over from the wall. Placed in Donna's field of vision, the cart's cover was removed. Restraints creaked as a mighty shudder shook the slut. Staring at the table and its contents, Rose couldn't figure out why Donna was so terrified. As far as she could see, it all looked quite civilized. There was an ornate wooden box, a large crystal ashtray, and a bud vase with a single red rose. Nothing too scary there, she thought.
The woman in green was served coffee, which smelled divine to the half-starved Rose. The men savored their ruby brandy for a moment.
"Shall we?" asked one. Not awaiting an answer, he rose, set his snifter on the table and opened the wooden box. Turning to his companion, he offered the box to him.
