Tough Girl

Sweet Kinky Reader,

Warning: Intense Consent/Non-Consent. Keep in mind the players are 18+ in age, certified STD free, and practice birth control. Thanks for the kind and gracious reception you gave Chapter 1.

Have fun,

xxox Emm

#_#_#_#

TOUGH GIRL Ch. 02

by Emmalee_Strict

© 2024

In the basement of the caged slave-whores.

"

Um, seriously,

" Bree whispered tentatively. "

Are we not allowed to speak?

"

She threw the question out into the darkness, not knowing where it might land. It was the slave in the cage to her right who fielded it and tossed it back.

"I do."

Bree turned her head. A wire mesh wall separated their cages. The girl nodded past Bree to indicate the others. "She won't; she can't."

"Will it get us in trouble? Talking?"

"I wish!" she giggled. "No, don't worry. Maybe you missed it, but Master Vic assigned me to orient you. If you asked. I was wondering what took you so long."

Bree didn't have an answer for that -- except that she was wrung out like a rag, sexually drained, and an emotional blank slate.

She lay on her side, legs curled up behind her, ankles chained to her wrists in a very loose hogtie. She had been luxuriating in the sensations pinging around her sated belly. Taking in her first night of sex-and-bondage-slavery, naked and chained; remembering the ropes and the rapes from before; and feeling the sweet, sticky disgrace of cum drying on her face, thighs and ass...

And being caged. Ugh!

Locked inside hers, she discovered the floor was a thin, wall-to-wall, gray cotton futon mat. She had a pillow. The back of the cage held a small litterbox, two plastic doggie-bowls, and a neatly folded, brown wool blanket. That was it. Those five items, plus her permanent steel, the sum of her belongings.

Or are they even 'belongings?' How can you have belongings, when you are one?

That's what she'd been doing all the time the blonde slave was waiting for her to talk: tucking thoughts like that into her mental sex-slave scrapbook. And images of what was done to her. Trying to freeze-frame it all for the sake of future nostalgia.

"I was afraid," she lied.

"That's good," said the blonde, and left it at that.

Wrestling with her loose bondage, clinking her chains, Bree turned to face the girl. Turning over caused a line of jizz to dribble down her cheek from her hair, and she stretched her tongue to catch it and lap it up.

Yum.

Chained the way she was, there wasn't much else she could do for fun.

The girl moved closer to the mesh wall and Bree could see her better. She was quite pretty. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, but past the band, the curly, frizzy locks billowed out like a clump of wildflowers. Reclining on her side, she looked not only full-figured but very tall. Her eyes were bright and not dead like beaten down slave's. She seemed, well... happy.

Bree asked, without knowing why, "How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Oh."

"Year abroad," she shrugged. "I'm from Canada."

Bree had nothing to say to that.

"I'm Emmalee."

"I'm --" Bree stopped. Master Vic had told her that her name was a thing of the past. To hear it from her own lips seemed like cheating the rules, whatever those were. "V-219."

"It's okay. I understand." Again, she nodded past Bree's cage. "Call me Emma. That's Ranjani next to you; she's Indian, so Master Jake calls her Delhi Meat. And that's Ginger. I think. Or maybe that's

what

she is. She's only been here.... huh...." she trailed off.

"Sorry, you said I could ask questions, right? What's the story with Jake -- Master Jake, I mean, and 'meat?' He could say our numbers easy enough, but he has to put 'meat' first."

"Oh that's his job, keeping us permanently degraded. I mean, you get that he's the live-in caretaker, right? Which includes slave care. Grooming, feeding and watering, walkies... you know what I mean."

'Walkies?'

"But see, he's not a trainer, technically. So when there aren't any trainers around to keep us active -- and there are long stretches where there aren't -- it's his job to make sure in our down time, we feel like broken, cowering, animal pieces of shit."

"Fuck, really?"

"Ya," she giggled. "I kinda got a crush on him."

"How long have you been here?"

Emma laughed softly. "That's the thing. Time is...

different

down here. Me, it's been...

huh.

I think maybe three changes of the season?"

Bree drew a startled breath. Did she mean nine months? Or more?

"When..." It seemed like a stupid question, but Bree asked it anyway, "When will you... leave?"

Emma grimaced. "Poor girl, you have a lot of things to learn. They train us not to speak about the future. I've been trained so... hard... it kind of hurts my head to even think about it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I like it." The way she smiled warmed Bree's heart.

Which is kind of fucked up,

she thought,

considering the circumstances.

"The way you cope is, you live it like it's a dream. And me, you know, since the best dreams I ever had are about exactly what they do to me in this place, that part's easy. My advice is, try living it like it's

your

dream."

Bree gasped.

Wow, shit, that sounds like really

...useful

advice

.

"I'm sorry I asked about your, you know... future," Bree apologized.

"No, actually, I can tell you like this. Sometimes the Masters ask us what we want to, to like... to

happen

to us. When they asked me... I said I want to be sold."

"Sold? Why haven't you?"

"I'm not permitted to know, silly." She laughed, "But I wonder if it's my size, you know, like I'm a handful or something. A petite thing like you, I bet you'd go in about ten seconds at your first auction."

Auction? Uggh, sold!

Bree felt a craving in her belly to ask more about that. But she was digesting the part about shutting down thoughts of the future, trying it on for size. So she changed the subject to the past. "What did 'Ginger' do to, to -- you know?"

"Dunno, I wasn't there. But she's on 24-Hour Punishment, I can tell you that. The rule is she has to go through it for a full day whether she has learned her lesson or not. Whipping, caning, overstim, sense-dep, stress-bondage, tame-fucking... did I mention the whipping? U

hhh...

"

Her eyes batted and she sighed. "Master Titus was here yesterday to administer the discipline, but he's gone now. She gets untied when the sun comes up, and then it'll be just like any other day for her."

"So it must have been bad, what she did?" Bree asked... wondering,

how can I get the same treatment?

"I've been through it three times. Twice it was definitely bad,

bad

disobedience on my part --"

"What did you do?"

"I... I'm not supposed to give you... ideas."

Damn.

"What about the third time?"

"No idea. I think it was just for fun. Master Mike has a thing for my big ass, I think, and he had a couple days to kill on his way through this part of the state." She smiled at the reminiscence, "

Oooh

..."

Bree changed the subject again. "I wonder why I'm tied up and you're not. Is it a 'first night of slavery' thing?"

"It's so you won't masturbate, right. The Masters control our orgasms."

"Well, why don't you? Your hands are free. I mean, are there... cameras?"

"No cameras, no mics. I just... we just... behave. Obey. Poor thing, you'll see --" She bit back the future-speak and started over, "They train you how they expect you to behave. And you..." She paused, looking for a better word, then chose the inevitable one, "will."

Bree shivered at the words, and at the breezy, singsong voice that spoke them.

"What's the 'V' for?"

"Voluntary Slave-Whore. Kind of a mouthful, so... 'V.'"

Not 'Victor.' Damn.

"V-219?" Emma said softly.

"Bree." She decided she and Emma were going to be good friends. "It's Bree."

"Oooh, that's pretty. Kind of tough, too. Bree?"

"Hm?"

"Twice a week, the slave-whores get free playtime. Um, do you... are you...? I mean, I'm bi, okay? I think you're really hot, Bree. Do you like girls?"

"I --" Bree decided not to sugar-coat it. "No. I like dick. I've tasted pussy, and it's not a turn-on. I love semen and I could take a bath in it all afternoon. I'm a straight, nympho, bondage-slut, cocksucking, masochistic femsub. Period. Sorry."

"It's okay, I understand." Emma fell silent, but not for long. "Then, um, can I tie you up?"

"How?"

"Rope, silly."

"Uh..."

Oh, yes.

"I think I'd like that, Emma."

They were quiet for a while. Really, they both should be sleeping. It sounded like the weekend was going to take a toll; she should be resting up for that. It looked like V-215, Ranjani, already was. Past her, Bree couldn't see through the mesh wall what state V-218, the Punished Ginger, was in.

Talking to Emma had calmed her down; that was true even though everything she said juiced her pussy, it was so fucking scary, brutal and hot. But it was Emma's, what?, her good attitude about her slavery. Her playfulness. That's what put Bree at ease.

And it felt good to have a friend.

Even a Tough Girl could use that.

"Emma...?" She had one last question. "Why did you use our names? I didn't think we were allowed."

"We're not. I'm trying to get myself in trouble."

"Why?"

Emma hesitated. Bree thought she saw the girl fighting the pain in her head that came from future-thinking, but she said it anyway,

"At the bachelor party, I want to be the Pain-Pig."

#_#

There were some changes around the Dungeon that Bree had slept through. First thing she noticed upon waking, Emma's cage door was ajar and she was gone. The barn door was wide open, and sunlight poured through it, warming up the wall of cages. It was fresh and golden, the way a new day's light should be.

Bree wrestled with her chains and turned on her hip, facing the cages to her left. The raven-haired Ranjani was awake and stretching out, doing yoga. Slave-Cage Yoga. She briefly caught Bree's eye, nodded, smiled, and went into 'downward-facing dog.'

Past her, she saw that someone had come and untied Ginger, and the redhead lay facing this way, sleeping soundly.

The peace and quiet didn't last long. A skittering sound caught Bree's ear, and she tensed at the sight of the silhouette in the doorway.

Not Vic, not Jake.

Just some guy,

Bree grunted faintly.

He sauntered in with a beach towel draped over one arm and a newspaper tucked under it, his other hand holding a big mug of coffee. He was sandy haired, young, and wore sunglasses, flip-flops, an open robe, and an erection.

"They said I could find some company here," he said, "you know, for down by the pool?"

The raven moved first, but Bree, having picked up the drill last night, wasn't far behind: hands behind (

well, duh

), knees flush against the bars and spread wide, chin on the oval opening, mouth open and tongue out.

The sleeping Ginger didn't stir.

The dude marched right up and inserted his boner in Bree's mouth. Sampling the merchandise -

Ooh!

She froze, unsure if she was expected to suckle or not. His glans nudged up to her throat, and paused. "Uh-uh, bitch, show me what you got."

As trained, she looked up to meet his eyes, closed her lips, sucked, and moaned. That went on for just a few seconds, before he glanced to his right and pulled out, swatting her face away.

"Whoa, hold the phone. Shit, I want to

live

in that mouth!"

He was talking about V-215, and Bree couldn't blame him -- those full,

exotic

lips. He set his coffee on top of the raven's cage, fished a keycard out of his robe pocket and swiped open the gate. He took her leash from the hook and clipped it to her collar.

She came out on all fours, squeaking out a whimper of gratitude, and lowered her face to kiss his sandaled feet.

Okay, noted.

Bree tossed those lessons onto her mental list.

"Good choice."

Jake strode in through the open door, dressed in the same ratty jeans and motorcycle boots from last night, a bright yellow tanktop, carrying a long-shafted shocker and a cooler, and wearing a coiled whip on his belt.

He pointed his prod at Bree. "The newbie cunt needs grooming anyway."

She watched the raven uncurl off the floor and crawl forward behind the leash, and she was again stunned by the girl's beauty. She was petite like Bree, though taller --

who isn't?

-- but where Bree had curves, this one seemed to be the living definition of

lithe

. She had long, graceful legs, her hips and ass were boyishly trim, and was almost literally flat-chested. Bree seriously wondered if she was a professional ballerina. In the sunlight, her honey-gold skin dazzled the room.

Alone among the slavegirls, she wore her hair loose, and the splendor of her shining, wavy black mane made it clear why. The loose hair made her look kind of feral.

Needing to be tamed,

Bree purred.

Jake stopped the guy at the door and held out a pair of kneepads. "Outside rules, dude."

"Maybe you're mistaking me for someone who reads the room signs, dude," he smirked.

But he took the kneepads anyway and handed them down to his slave, who demonstrated a graceful way of slipping them on with her shins barely leaving the floor.

Bree tried to follow what she did, but it went by too quickly.

"Have fun," he said as they left. He went to the doorway and called after them, "Dude, hey, she's yours for an hour tops, okay? Bitch has work to do upstairs. Honor system, bruh, send her up and don't make me come down."

"Whatever," replied the voice receding down the garden path.

Jake shook his head and turned to Bree. Using a card clipped to a large ring of keys, he swiped open her cage door. "Checked in last night. Did I mention?"

Immediately, Bree knee-walked her way out, head ducked, hands behind. Knees on the mat, she tried to follow the raven's example and lower her lips to his boots -- but they were already gone. He had moved down the row to V-218.

He rattled her bars with his shocker. "Enough lying around like a used-up party slut!" He opened her cage and jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "Upstairs, cunt, and start cleaning!"

Bree watched this with surreptitious eyes, her forehead to the rubber mat. V-218 didn't bother with the bowing and boot-licking, she just launched herself crawling out of the cage and...

rose to her feet,

which Bree then saw prancing away.

Okay, so walking upright is permitted if you're told to hurry? Noted.

She saw Jake's boots turn her way... and the next moment, her hip caught fire.

*BZZZT*

Yelping, she couldn't stop herself from rearing up on her knees -- opening herself for Jake to zap her tit. *BZZZT* She squealed and returned her face to the floor.

"Whore, go back in and fetch your bowls!"

She complied, ducking her head and backing into the cage. She had to maneuver inside her cell, but she managed; taking the rim of one doggie-bowl with her teeth, she deposited it on the mat outside; two bowls took her two trips.

While she rushed to it, she groused at his use of the shocker. The commercial cattle-prod, recalibrated for human livestock, gave a shock that got nowhere near her upper pain threshold, but she hated it with a passion, because it was irritating, clinical, unsexy. Doms she'd played with knew this about her. Like Kenny.

Kenny... who once told her,

"Bree, you challenge me to find ways to punish you that you don't actually

like

. How am I ever going to teach you anything? Well, I think I found something you won't enjoy..."

Her doggie-bowls deposited outside the cage, Bree paused at the threshold, knees inside, face bowed over the mat and bowls. This drill she already knew from past training:

waiting to be scolded.

Jake obliged. "All right, new meat, new rules. When you're let out in the morning, and if it's not because there's a man there fixin' to use you right away -- it's for feeding, watering and grooming. You always bring the bowls out first thing, meat."

He touched the prod to her shoulder but didn't trigger it. She got the message.

"And

then

you give your Master's feet some love."

His boots were within reach now, so she lowered her face to them. Feeling chastened, she skipped the kissing part and went straight ahead to licking them with slobbering moans.

Jake crouched and set down the cooler, opened it, and filled one bowl with water from a canteen. The other he filled with the contents of two small Tupperwares: wet dog food, and the table-scraps of someone else's breakfast -- cold scrambled eggs, fragments of bacon and toast.

Then, *BZZZT* *Squeal*

"Eat, slave."

She didn't need the zap or the order. She was famished and parched. She dove right in, the food bowl first. Bree was no stranger to eating on her knees with her hands bound, she knew there was no way around messing up her face, so she wasn't ladylike about it...

Slurp, slurp, slurp.

She gorged, filled her mouth, chewed and swallowed, then turned to the water bowl.

Lap, lap, lap.

Midway through her meal, she glanced up to see a second pair of boots enter the frame of her floor-level vision. They were Vic's.

She saw the ends of the cane he brought. She saw his knees crouch and felt his hands on her wrists, unfastening her manacles.

Then she saw Jake handing off the cattle-prod to him.

Finally, she heard Vic say, "Hurry up and finish. We're running late, you lazy whore, and you still need your grooming."

#_#

Since she had passed over into Vic's hands, everything seemed to Bree like a hot, breathless blur. In the room behind the cages -- a white-tiled space like a gym bathroom, but smaller and

modified

-- Bree was bound to the 'grooming station,' and groomed.

Her back was to a post, her hips forward on a short, vinyl-padded bench, ass up, wrists chained to a ring set high in the pillar, and legs up and spread wide by chains connected to the pillar. Working silently with a straight razor, within minutes Vic had her armpits, legs, taint and vulva shaved smooth.

Bree's head spun, swooning with feelings of exposure and vulnerability under his brisk, workmanlike hands. Adding to her disorientation, all of this went on as a rubber bulb pulsed in her anus, which fed her bowels with warm solution from an IV bag. A grinding, unsexy cramping-up burbled in her gut.

Vic soaped her up and hosed her down, the water bracing as it emitted from the hose jet, making her feel lightly flogged. He scrubbed extra hard at her left tit and right ass-cheek, removing her temporary numbers; then with a sort of digital, inkjet pricing gun, applied the permanent ones and the QR codes. She felt those two insults to her flesh as flashes of prickly heat.

As he toweled Bree off, finally he spoke, "Hope you enjoyed your breakfast, V-219. Normally, slave-whores get breakfast, lunch in the mid-afternoon, no dinner."

He buffed her tits with sharp flicks of the towel. "But this being a party night, you'll get a light lunch after discipline drills at noon, and a second enema once the guests start checking in."

He plucked out the anal bulb and handled a plastic pail carefully to catch the spurting release from her bowels.

"Ugghh," she groaned. This part always felt to her like a quick but joyless orgasm.

"There's just this little time slot this morning to get you trained up for tonight. So don't muck things up by acting like a slow learner, or you'll regret it... by which I mean, you will

tonight

."

Bree moaned, her lust-clouded mind struggling to follow her sex-slave itinerary. But she picked up on one message apart from the rest:

Master Vic is going to talk me through this.