Captive In Dark Leather Ch 07

Captive in Dark Leather Ch. 7

It was time for me to be used...so I was used.

The woman had been merciful, in her own way. After whipping me with her strap, and making me explode orgasmically while I watched my husband be whipped, she let a handler bring me back to my cage for the night.

I slept. It seems inconceivable that I was able to even close my eyes, but I was so exhausted, that I probably passed out before my cage had even been locked. That's the benefit of the punishing, physically exhausting schedule they've forced on us. I'm seeing benefits to this whole experience. Can you believe it?

The woman's boot is right there, outside the cage. It's so close. My face is pressed against the bars, my tongue is stretched out as far as it will go, straining for her boot, for the taste of her leather. It's so close, but I just can't reach it. Why won't she move a little closer? She knows how badly I want it.

I am suddenly woken up. It was just a dream, of course. Just the latest variation on the same dream I've been having for days. I can't remember ever having had another one before.

My eyes slowly adjust to the light as the handlers strike my cage and shout for me to wake up. It takes me a moment to realize why the light is such a tremendous shock, and then it comes to me. I have been sealed in a leather hood every night before being put in my cage. This was the first night I had slept without it. And after I open my eyes fully to look around, I realize why.

I am the only one here. All the other cages are empty. I know why. I don't want to think about it, but I know why.

While I got to sleep, all of the other captive slaves were used throughout the night. It was the opening night of festivities, the first chance for the masters and mistresses, the Woman's customers, to get their hands on the merchandise. They had predictably gone wild...at our expense.

It should feel peaceful as I am led out of my cage for my morning rituals. Instead of being surrounded by other slaves that I couldn't see, but whose presence I could feel through my hood, I am alone. It's just me and the two handlers. Like every morning, they have me squat above a drain to piss and shit first. Then they scrub me clean in the shower. This is the first time I've had the hood off for the entire ritual, and I am looking around everywhere while the handlers put me through my routine.

The relative privacy does nothing for my peace of mind. I have flashbacks to the things I'd seen and heard last night. Men and women like myself, whipped and tortured, used for the depraved pleasure of the guests. Women fucked left and right every which way, men fondled by Mistresses, and by Masters. I keep seeing these scenes from last night as I look around the empty rows of cages and shower stalls.

After being cleaned and groomed, I am leashed and led on my hands and knees to the row of dog bowls. There is a disturbing echo to the sound of my chewing. Even though I had been hooded before during meal times, I had been able to hear the sounds of other slaves all chewing at the same time. Now it is so still and alone in this space, that the sound of my chewing echo's around the cavernous hold of this ship.

At least it isn't dog food this time. That had only been for the morning after our first night sleeping in the cages. I couldn't tell you what we've been eating since then. But at least it isn't dog food, whatever it is.

I had realized why I was here alone almost as soon as I'd woken up. The Woman had used me last night. She had whipped me with her strap while my husband was jerked off by a handler. She had then had him whipped while we both got off during it. Because I had been hers last night, I had been spared from being used by anyone else. I was clearly the Woman's favorite.

I'm being watched while I eat. A handler is right there, standing over me. As soon as I've taken my last bite, the leash is clipped to my collar. I take a last quick slurp of water before I am yanked up. I have been trained by the Woman, and when my leash is pulled, I obediently crawl on my hands and knees like a good bitch.

I am led out of the room by the handler and down the corridor on my hands and knees. Walked like a dog. As we make our way, I hear things coming out of some of the rooms we pass, or from down the corridor. Screams, sounds of leather against flesh, things like that. We pass female slaves finally being led back to our hold by other handlers. The kindest thing one could say is that they look shell-shocked. The long unending night is written all over their faces. They have been used in the most unimaginable ways. They are dirty, used, some covered in sores and welts from the whips and the canes. And their ordeal is just beginning. Last night had just been the first night. You can see them making the same calculations I am making. The Woman announced to the guests, probably for our benefit as much as theirs, that this ordeal was for a week. No permanent damage to us, since we will have to be in shape to make our return flights home. Does that mean five nights or seven nights? Will we even be able to keep track of them either way?

Why had we wanted this, my husband and I? In our 40's, we'd finally opened up to each other. We shared fantasies of bondage and dominance, spanking games, leather corsets. It had all seemed so innocent at the time. We had no idea that a kinky trip to spice up our marriage would turn into this.

The women walk funny. Is it from being fucked past the point of pain, from being whipped, or just because of the chains hobbling their ankles? I imagine they all look down on me as I am led past them on my hands and knees. I see no men. Our husbands and lovers are all being held somewhere else on this ship. Last night was hard for them too, but worse is to come. Their anal virginity will be auctioned off this week to the highest bidders. My husband is not bi in the least. Being fucked by a man will be traumatic for him. Although after being jerked off by a man while watching the Woman whip me, will it really make a difference at this point?

I am led up a ladder to a deck above mine, down more corridors, and then we stop at a door. My leash is yanked, and I am guided up onto my knees. My hands are pulled up and back. I straighten up my back and put my hands behind my head. The handler relaxes, so I have correctly intuited what he wanted from me. Then we just wait.

I stare straight ahead at that metal door in this position for what seems like the longest time. Occasionally, I hear sounds coming from inside. The floor is getting to my knees. I don't know how long I can kneel in this position, but I know I don't have any choice in the matter. Finally, I hear a creak.

When the door opens, I realize I was hoping for something that I'm not going to get. It's not the Woman. I have been led somewhere else.

A man stands in the doorway, silk robe loosely tied at the waist. He has nothing on under it. I can see his flaccid cock hanging down. Middle-aged, full head of close-cropped dark hair, starting to gray. He's slightly paunchy, like a football player starting to go to seed. He doesn't look interested in me. Matter of fact, he looks bored...and cruel. I feel as if I'm not even there. I sure wish I wasn't.

The man says a few short words to the handler in a language I don't understand. East European maybe? The handler hands my leash to the man and walks off. The man doesn't even look down at me. He just turns and walks. I am instantly yanked off my knees and pulled behind him. I have to scramble to keep up on my hands and knees. He doesn't bother looking back. The door closes behind us.

It's really dark in here, takes my eyes some time to adjust. At least it's carpeted, which is such a big relief for my poor knees. There is a dull thudding sound up ahead. It seems so subliminal at first, I don't even notice it even though I can hear it. It's vaguely rhythmic, slow and hypnotic. I have no idea what it is, and then, I do, and I wish I didn't.

We enter a darkened room. The first thing I can make out is a middle-aged woman in a tight leather corset and boots moving around, swinging something. Every inch closer makes the scene clearer as I crawl. She's swinging a whip. Of course she is. The Whip Woman also has closely cropped hair, jet-black. The way her physique fills out that corset, she could be twins with the man. Her whip is connecting with something in the center of the room, and when it becomes clear, it makes my blood chill. A woman hangs by her wrists from the ceiling. I only see her backside. She's completely nude. I can tell where she's been whipped by the cuts and welts. She flinches with each strike, causing her to swing. I am led around her to a long leather bench of some sort, and then the man stops. I get my first look at the hanging woman's face. She's younger than me, by a good ten years at least. But she's also heavier, probably by about fifteen or twenty pounds. That can't make hanging by her wrists any fun. She has frizzed black and purple hair that stops just above her shoulders. Looks like she was going for a punk/goth look. She also has several tattoos on her body. I think they're rock'n'roll bands. None that I recognize, not that I'm much of an expert.

Her face is streaked with tears. She's been crying off and on all night. Her body is slick and dirty, covered in dried sweat. I can smell it. I also smell urine. I look down. There is a stainless steel pot below her, where she has pissed. I wonder how long she's been strung up like that. She looks down to make eye contact with me, but there is a dead look in her eyes. It makes me think she's been here far too long. The purple ball-gag in her mouth goes with her hair. Isn't it ridiculous that I make that observation with all that is going on?

The Whip Woman stops whipping. She reaches up to dig her fingers into the Hanging Woman's ass-crack. From the sudden look on the Hanging Woman's face, it has an effect. Then the Whip Woman walks around her prey over to us. She snaps her fingers and points down to her heels. I squat down with my ass in the air and start licking her shoes. Apparently this is what she wanted from me, since nothing happens to me for the next few minutes. I lick, and they converse in that foreign language.

This is nothing like licking The Woman's leather boots. Those, I adore. They mean everything to me. When I'm not licking them, I dream about licking them, polishing their fine black leather with my tongue. The hardest thing about this whole ordeal is the times between offering tribute to The Woman with my tongue.

These things I'm forced to lick now are just black pumps, worn by a middle-aged sadist who has been in them all night. You can imagine what they taste like. She's been working hard at her illicit hobby, so the smell down there isn't the best either. But I know what these people are like already. Nothing good may happen to me in this room, but it can be a lot worse if I don't do as I am told.

My leash is suddenly yanked up as the Whip Woman moves away. I am raised up to my knees. The Whip Woman reaches around to unclasp and pull out the Hanging Woman's ball-gag. Drool collecting behind that gag spills out of her mouth, runs down her tits. The Whip Woman pours a glass of water from a pitcher on a table, yanks the Hanging Woman's head back by the hair, and pours the water into the Hanging Woman's mouth. The Hanging Woman gasps to swallow as much as she can, while water flows out of her mouth to rinse the drool off her body.

Whip Woman puts the glass down when it's emptied, then rises up on her toes and yanks the Hanging Woman's face down far enough to give her a kiss. That word really doesn't describe it all. What Whip Woman really does is mash her mouth against Hanging Woman's. From the looks of it, she's shoving her tongue as far down Hanging Woman's throat as she can. It only looks the least bit pleasurable for one of them.

Whip Woman goes in back of Hanging Woman and does something around her butt. I can't see what she's doing, but it definitely has an effect on Hanging Woman, as she grimaces and scrunches up her face. There is a fleshy little pop, and then Whip Woman comes back around holding a big black rubber butt-plug. I hadn't even noticed it in Hanging Woman's ass. Whip Woman grabs Hanging Woman by the hair again and pushes it against her mouth. Hanging Woman tries to keep her mouth shut and refuse entry, but that does her no good at all. Whip Woman just keeps that death grip on her hair and shoves until it goes all the way in, leaving just the tip hanging out. Whip Woman then points to the plug and says something in her native language. I doubt that Hanging Woman understands it any better than I do, but from the tone and the pointing, the meaning is clear. Things may seem bad now, but they can get so much worse if that plug drops down to the floor.

Whip Woman takes a long moment just to look Hanging Woman in the eye, with the death grip still on her hair. Hanging Woman pees a little as she keeps eye contact with Whip Woman, filling up that pot some more.

Whip Woman seems satisfied that she's gotten her message across. She lets go of the hair, goes to another table, examines it, and picks up something long and thin from it. She returns to her whipping position behind Hanging Woman, rears back, and lets Hanging Woman have it. It's a cane. Long, thin, and cruel. Hanging Woman cries out through the plug from the first strike. I am allowed to watch as she is caned a few more times. The special cruelty of this latest variation to the arrangement is that every time the Hanging Woman is struck, she involuntarily clamps down on that butt-plug. I can't imagine which part of this punishment is worse. Thank God that plug is only made of rubber, at least.

As Whip Woman stays at it, I am directed to turn around by the Robed Man. I now face him on my knees with my back to the caning going on. The robe is untied. His cock is not particularly flaccid anymore. It's stiffening. He grabs my hair, pulls me towards it. The intent could not be clearer. This is going to happen. I see no point in pretending there are other options.

I open my mouth and close my eyes. Then I have a penis in my mouth. I just hold it there. He doesn't shove it in too far...yet. Sure, I could bite down on it, but what would that accomplish for me? Whatever I do to him means nothing if I or my husband are thrown overboard. So I do the only thing I can do. I run my tongue over it. It hardens.

The caning continues in a slow, steady, rhythm. Swish, hit, muffled scream. Swish, hit, muffled scream. Over and over. The penis in my mouth starts moving back and forth to the rhythm. As I lick, I contemplate this experience. This is the first cock I've tasted besides my husband's since I started dating him almost two decades ago. I have not seen another penis since then, let alone felt one. It is only the third penis I have ever had any contact with. When I married, I married for life. I never thought I would see or touch or taste another cock besides my husbands again. And I didn't want to. But now here I am, with a strange man starting to shove his cock in and out of my mouth to the rhythm of the cane strikes and muffled screams. He matches their rhythm as they start to speed up.

I don't know how long this goes on. One can lose all track of time when one is forced to suck cock. I do my best to keep my teeth out of the way and use my tongue for pleasure. I do know how to do this. I've never been shy about giving my husband pleasure with my mouth before. Will it do me any good?

The caning is going faster now. The grip on my hair is tight as I am face-fucked. I know this only ends one way. His cock is going to be shoved as far down my throat as it can be shoved, and I am going to swallow this man's sperm. I am as prepared for it as I can be, but then...

The cock is suddenly gone. I open my eyes. The cock is still right there in front of me, fully erect, slick with my saliva, but then it moves. The Robed Man walks away from me. A moment later, I feel my leash pulled, and I am turned around by the Whip Woman to face the Hanging Woman again. The Robed Man is in back of her now. His robe is off, draped over a chair. He lowers the Hanging Woman down, and positions her carefully. She is standing now, but has to bend at the knees to accommodate him. Then he shoves his body against her backside. He has to do it again, a few more times. She grimaces. It doesn't look like she likes it, but then why would she? The third time, he holds her tightly against him, and then it looks as if he shoves in slowly all the way. There is pain on her face, then relief when he stops. Instinctively, I know what those looks mean.

He's in her ass, that's what it is. He gives her a moment to get used to the feeling. Probably the only bit of mercy she's been shown all night. It's actually lucky for her that they plugged her ass beforehand. Otherwise this could have been a lot worse for her. The formerly Robed Man performs the basic moves one expects from this sort of thing. He rears back slowly, then pulls her against him again. This happens a few times, as he's easing his cock in and out of her ass. But he's a man, and he now reverts to his own instinct. He has one purpose in life for this moment in this place. He dispenses with going slowly, easing her into it. He starts fucking. The only thing in this room is his fucking now, until he cums in her ass.

Whip woman stands behind me while this is happening, holding my leash. Then her other hand starts to wander. She runs her fingers through my hair, down my neck, along my cheek. As the Hanging Woman is butt-fucked, Whip Woman crouches down behind me. She pulls me into her. I feel her enormous tits against my back. One hand reaches around to grab a breast and squeeze. The other reaches all the way down to my cunt. Whip Woman really has to lean into me to reach down that far. I can feel the sweat of her body, accumulated from her all-night session with Hanging Woman and the whip. Her scent is pungent. I feel her breath along my face as she runs her tongue along my ear and nibbles it.

There is nothing for the Formerly Robed Man now except the fucking. He is working towards his goal, and everything else is shut out. He holds the Hanging Woman's breast and hip tightly as he rams into her. She surrenders to the moment. It's the only option open to her. Her eyes are closed as she continues to clamp down on that butt-plug in her mouth. She's breathing heavier. It must be hard trying to take in breaths through that plug, mainly having to breath through her nose. She makes those little noises that women make when they are fucked.

Whip Woman's hands are busy now. She's trying to warm me up as well, get me to come. She whispers things in my ear, evil, dirty things, I'm sure. I can't understand the words, but I feel I still get the meaning. I'm probably being called things like whore and slut, and demeaned for getting hot while another woman is whipped and butt-fucked.

I surrender to the moment too. What else can I do? I haven't necessarily intended to, but once it starts, I just go with it. It begins with my wondering what it feels like for the Hanging Woman. I know what it's like to be whipped now, but I've never done anal before. It was something that never came up with my husband much, so I didn't bring it up in the bedroom either. Luckily, my girlfriends would say. It seemed like every other husband wanted backdoor access, and they invariably picked the wives who didn't see the appeal in it. My husband and I had intended to try it out this week, since it was to be our dirty bondage week away from home. We still will, I'm sure, just not in any way that we ever would have intended.