The Apartment Pt 06

Our new owner arrived on the morning following Jonathan's departure. Master Kyle was very polite, almost ingratiating in his speech; but in the words of the Bard, "The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman!" From the outset he was less indulgent towards his slaves' needs and wants, much more strict and demanding. He may have been too vexing an assignment even for Lydia, because I never encountered him, or heard about him, once he'd gone. But for as long as he remained in the apartment, Lydia never compromised. She bore the burden of her slavery in quiet acceptance and fortitude no less than I or Evandra.

Life in all aspects was much harsher under the new regime. In contrast to his predecessor, Master Kyle was home most of the time, going out only at irregular intervals. As a result, Evandra and I had none of the free time we'd previously enjoyed. When he was not amusing himself with us (he had daunting reserves of energy and expected even more from his women), he kept us tied up in the living room or chained to the bed. He did, however, release us whenever he went out. That was one of the house rules. But we were told to kneel facing the wall until his return. Once he was away for several hours, yet we obeyed. He did not question our compliance, nor did he have any need to do so. I could no more have disobeyed him in his absence than I could have defied him to his face.

We females no longer shared meals with our Master, so there was no more table talk. In fact we were rarely allowed to speak to each other, so it was a lonely time. Penalties for any infractions (mostly imagined) of the unwritten rules were severe. Since we were to be flogged each evening in any case, Kyle resorted to more sadistic, more shameful, more degrading punishments. His favourite penances were petty cruelties like making us kneel on rice. Strictly for amusement, he put pegs and clamps on our nipples and labia. He became engaged when we didn't cry out, and we paid the penalty for that as well.

I call those days my time of tribulation; but in a sense I owe Master Kyle a debt of gratitude. My experience as his property confirmed what Lydia had been teaching. Adversity does indeed make you stronger. I also understood, for really the first time, that it is this which excites, invigorates and rejuvenates me. Intangibles I had once supposed were imperatives in my life -- dignity, freedom, self-reliance, self-determination -- now mean nothing compared to the power I have found within myself. It is no paradox that I could summon strength from my subjugation, feel pride in my degradation, draw energy from my weakness and servitude.

Yet the new Master tested our endurance. One way he did this was to make us wear chastity belts. Since he had sole access to Evandra's and my bodies, these were not to keep us celibate, but rather for humiliation and as a demonstration of his will. They were made of leather and metal. The waistband consisted of a thin strap which sat above the hips and drooped in the front and rear, and was attached with a miniature padlock to the "shield" that covered the crotch. We each retained our own key for emergency egress, but honesty and honor kept us locked in. The shield was shaped to fit the contours of our loins, and ended just above the tailbone. There was a small slot for urination (not wide enough to take a finger and thus too narrow to serve any other purpose). It was not a very efficient means of channelling the flow, so that whenever we needed to use the toilet we asked permission to remove the belt. If it was just to pee, sometimes this was granted, sometimes not.

Affixed to the inside front was a plug that was inserted into the vagina. Each belt came with several different sizes. (I noticed small scratches where the shaft coupled to the shield, indicating that mine was not the first body it was inside. I wondered who the previous wearer had been, and what had become of her.) The Master asked how deeply we could be penetrated without excessive discomfort, in order to give us each the longest insert possible without doing damage. He didn't specify exactly what he meant by "excessive" and feminine pride impelled us to go maximum rather than minimum. A similar, but mercifully smaller, shaft was provided for the rear entrance. These together made moving about a major challenge, while sitting and squatting were virtually impossible. Putting on the belt took effort because the shield was semi-rigid, and unless we aligned the two plugs perfectly with our cavities, it required some back-and-forth manoeuvering to slide them into place.

For added effect, on the inside of the panel just above the slot was a bud or stud which, when the belt was snugly fitted, pressed against the clitoris, imparting into each and every movement a very specific thrill. Unfortunately, as well as keeping us in an almost permanent state of orgasm, the "stimulator" rubbed against the urethra, so we also felt like we constantly needed to pee.

Lydia agreed to wear her chastity belt when she left to go downtown. She wasn't obliged to. Our slavery was in effect only inside the apartment and the studio. She did it to please the Master (but his escalating demands probably explain why he became

persona non grata

). What she wore was a slightly more streamlined version that made sitting and walking easier. Nevertheless, how she coped with the plugs and the "stimulator" during her working day was a mystery to me. Twice she returned to the apartment confessing that she had been forced to remove her belt. She never said why, whether it was to use the bathroom or for some other reason. (Though not the risk of public embarrassment. I can visualize the redoubtable Lydia rising to the challenge and leaving her belt in place while entertaining clients.) She was savagely punished, of course. She could have concealed her transgression (just as Master Kyle could have sealed the lock with wax or something which would break when the lock was undone), but it never occurred to us to contravene our orders. For what would be the point of our slavery -- as much an assertion of our own true nature as it was a gift of devotion to those whom we served -- if we violated its most basic tenet?

For Master Kyle's additional amusement, also implanted into the shield were twin electrodes which were in contact with the vulva; the plugs were wired as well. There was a small pouch on the back of the belt to attach a battery and remotely controlled switching mechanism. The Master used this to randomly shock us, individually or all at once. The settings ranged from mild jolt to lightning bolt.

So wearing the chastity belt was not easy, and as such it was a constant, bracing reminder that my body no longer belonged to me. The stimulator bud was a symbol of the purpose my body served, and the electrodes a token of the Master's control; just as nudity took away my privacy and signified that I had surrendered the right to withhold any part of myself, that I should be at all times accessible. And it was a marvellous feeling, to be owned, subject to a power outside, beyond and above myself, to be utterly and abjectly and joyfully devoted to that power, to be so desired that men should want to own and subdue me, and to have the strength to endure all that this entailed.

Our mantra was: "What you are not is just as important as what you are." Master Kyle reinforced it on the morning when he removed the butt plug from each belt. This made wearing it slightly less awkward, but that was not his motive. "Your comfort is irrelevant," he told us. With just the one shaft, in the front, "the belt represents what you do not have in common with those who own you." Its presence inside our bodies was to remind us constantly, never let us forget or ignore, what it is which sets us apart from our Masters. The symbolism was not subtle. It was not meant to be.

More evil was the so-called "pear of anguish". I saw it in the room downstairs, but only now did I experience it. As the name suggests, it is shaped like a pear but with four segments which at the turn of a screw separate like the opening petals of a flower. Inserted into the vagina, it is capable of doing great damage to your insides. The one in the apartment had a stopper on the screw to prevent this, but it was nonetheless a frightful device and, protruding from between one's legs, horribly humiliating.

Yet despite such indignities, and the austerity, I found myself settling easily and happily into this strange new life, having no responsibilities except to serve, no obligations other than to obey, no liabilities and no uncertainties, feeling pangs but no regrets, shame but no guilt. The almost continuous state of arousal in which I found myself was exhausting at first, but I soon discovered in bondage and servitude a revitalizing quality, a second wind.

Seven days into Master Kyle's tenure, a new girl arrived. Camille was statuesque, beautiful, dark-skinned and hazel-eyed with a penetrating gaze and a sultry, sensual demeanour. She was an athlete of some celebrity; and inside the apartment, though naked and servile, she had a haughty disposition that even the Master found intimidating. And I was selfishly gratified that he shifted his focus onto her. They locked themselves in a cycle of defiance and reprisal. She never faltered and he never relented.

Then, after forty days, Lydia took me into her study and closed the door. Even in private we did not sit on the chairs; but the rug was fleecy and warm, and I loved its tickly touch on my bare flesh. That was enough to give me goosebumps. For in the time I'd spent in the apartment, I had discovered sensations and emotions that, in my previous existence, I had taken for granted or which had existed below my level of conscious insight.

"Pay attention," Lydia said, softly. "You will leaving here very soon; but you will continue to serve the Master to whom you are assigned. At some point you will be taken to another place to continue your training. This could be at any time. You must be ready and prepared."

This would be the next step along my path -- to the culmination and fulfillment of all I had experienced, the reward for all I had undergone. Lydia warned me that for as long as I was bound to the brotherhood of Masters, my life would be strictly constrained and rigorously controlled.

As she spoke, I felt a certain numbness, disappointment that this part of my journey was coming to an end counterbalanced by excitement (and dread) that another chapter was beginning. But at that moment the door swung open, and we prostrated ourselves on the voluptuous rug, our hands behind our backs. Master Kyle locked heavy iron collars about our throats. He was not gentle with what followed.

Naturally, however, it was Evandra who next left the apartment, two days before my departure. When she was informed that her time had come, her expression was more fearful than I witnessed on any woman in the sisterhood before or since. As with Lucy, two men came to fetch her. Unlike Lucy, Evandra received no send-off, had no farewell dinner or any other ceremony. The men brought with them an old and battered steamer trunk, and into it she was squeezed, folded, bound hand and foot, and gagged. There were air holes for breathing, but it was cramped and hot in the box. She began sweating almost at once. She was sealed inside with a lock and encircling straps, and the men hauled their cargo onto a handcart trolley and wheeled it out of the apartment. From the balcony, I saw parked at kerbside a black van. I never learned Evandra's destination nor the meaning behind her melodramatic exit. Nor did I ever see her again.

With her gone and Kyle's reign only half over, I was glad that my time was also nearing its end. In fact, the Master hardened his regimen. He was attempting to break Camille's will, and I felt the fallout. On the morning after Evandra's leaving, after Lydia went off to work, the Master tied Camille and me in a double strappado and kept me that way for several excruciating hours, with only short relief breaks (the only purpose of which was to stop us lapsing into unconsciousness). While we dangled, he used and abused our bodies, inside and out. And yet, as terrible as this was, mingled with the pain and the shame was pride in my ability to bear the worst torments, but as well another sort of pride. For as I shrieked through my gag, writhed and twisted in my bonds, I felt something that even now is difficult to describe -- like a flow of energy between my tormentor and me, but a two-way, invigorating flow. And I realized then, with perfect clarity, what occurred to me when I first entered the apartment but had never quite crystallized in the conscious part of my brain.

The power which men had over me (Master Kyle, Master Jonathan, Master Jason, and the others) was equally a power which I held over them. What they demanded of me was no more or less than what I took from them. So in my subjugation and submission, they were not so much perpetrators as collaborators. The bond between Master and slave was a covenant not just of obedience and obeisance but of pleasure and pride.