Hellnet Pt 01

Author's note: this is purely a work of fiction. It involves non-consensual BDSM, kidnapping and dark themes. If you're offended by any of this please don't read on. I would under no circumstances condone this in real life.

Mistress comes down to do a "health check" on us twice a day. This consists of maneuvering around in our separate cages as best we can with our hands and ankles shackled and linked together with heavy chain, and placing our heads in the "headbox" she's fastened between an opening in the bars next to the small cage door. We're instructed to put our heads in the box when our shock collars go off, resting our necks in the circular cut out of the lower half of the box and carefully sliding the hollow tube of our phallus gags into the dowl rod protruding from one of the sides of the box. I know she watches us closely on the closed circuit monitors, more than likely just outside of the locked room, because once we've got our heads positioned as required, she enters and snaps the upper half of the box shut, locking our heads in, unable to move much due to the dowl holding our phallus gags. I'm assuming my fellow captive gets the same treatment -- I haven't been able to talk to her, or actually anyone in weeks. It seems she gets the same treatment.

Mistress then applies the enemas to clean us out and once a week, we're given sponge baths and my Prince Albert chastity cage comes off for cleaning and a quick medical check. Any lingering welts or open wounds are treated, although she's particular about "permanently damaging the cash cows." Only the highest paying customers are allowed the level of severity that results in permanent marks. My fellow captive has had two such "sessions" and wears two nasty permanent scars on her back, delivered by me and a whip with steel barbs.

The shock collars are really all Mistress ever needed to maintain the level of submission and compliance from her two -- current - stars of HellNet. But Mistress likes restraints and her customers on the "24/7" payment plan want to see two slaves shackled in their cages whenever they decide to pop on the site. It's what they're paying for after all.

The nightly "live broadcasts" are when we "earn our keep". Mistress takes great pains to set up and direct the highly priced "Custom Plan" sessions, where some lucky son-of-a-bitch sadist gets their carefully scripted scene played out on live webcam, at a fee that keeps Mistress nicely taken care of. More income is to be had by everyone else, on the "Voyeur Plan" - access to the live feeds and unlimited chat during the session.

So you might be wondering why we do this, what's our cut for being real life slaves 24/7, and at the whim not only of a cruel and demanding Mistress but unseen thousands who gladly pay to see us suffer. We get the reward of Mistress not selling us to someone potentially crueler than she. Or worse. Mistress likes to talk about her friend who works at the county incinerator. Did we sign on for any of this? Fuck no. I don't even know the name of the pretty girl caged up on the other side of the room.

At some point in the past, I was a normal man. Successful, ambitious, trying to climb the ladder and make some money on the way. I took care of myself, stayed fit, knew what I had in the way of charm and good looks and dated off and on with varying degrees of success. There wasn't anything really particular that would set me off from anyone else. I had some success as a regional product manager and within a few years, was promoted to head up the midwestern sector. That meant a lot of travelling, which wasn't an issue. No wife, no permanent girlfriend, not even a cat or a dog. I probably spent more time in a plane seat than a car seat, more nights in hotel bed than in my own bed. And definitely one night too many in a hotel bar.

I don't remember which bar I was in, or even what city -- I'm pretty sure it was one of the Chicago suburbs, but something got in my head a while back that it was St. Louis and now I'm not sure. I do know the bar was upscale because the hotel was upscale. She was tall and striking and sitting a few seats over from me at the bar. I'd made casual eye contact with her through the mirror behind the whiskey and scotch bottles and she'd smiled back. I had the bartender send another drink down to her and she brought it with her when she took the seat next to mine.

Having all the time in the world to think about it now, I know that she slipped something into my drink when I went to use the men's room. I rarely drink more than my limit, even when my bed was only a few floors and an elevator up. But as the night wore on, I became more compliant, agreeable to her suggestions and it wasn't long before she was supporting me as we made our way to her room. The thing I remember clearly, to this day, was sitting on the end of her bed as she undressed me, running her hands over my body, kissing me here and there, pressing her breasts against my face, directing my mouth to her hard nipples, hidden beneath her evening dress. I was quite sure she wasn't wearing a bra.

I also distinctly remember her asking me if I wanted to play a kinky game she enjoyed. Ever compliant with what she'd given me, I let myself get handcuffed and gagged with a no-nonsense ballgag, which was locked on at the back of my neck. She then fitted an odd collar around my neck and locked that on. Plopping down on her knees between my thighs, she grabbed my now rock hard cock and looked up at me.

"This belongs to me, now. Do you understand?"

I nodded. I swear to God and all that's holy, that I nodded. Yes, I understood. Why not? I'd never been handcuffed or gagged before but this was one hot woman, who was getting into her part and why would I say no? I didn't have the vibe that she was a serial killer. Turns out, she was worse.

So, in spite of agreeing to her telling me she owned my cock, I suddenly felt the worst pain in my life. It exploded from the thing she'd put around my neck and went on for a good five seconds, locking my body up. When it stopped, I lay on my back, trembling on the bed. She was standing now, towering over me. Fire in her eyes.

"If you so much as hesitate after I give you a command, you're get worse than that." She reached down and pulled me up by my hair, eyes boring into mine. "Do. You. Understand?" I screamed "Yes" into my gag but was rewarded with another round of exploding pain.

I'd rolled off the bed and was whimpering in a ball on the floor between the two twin beds, wrists chaffing from by body seizing against the hard metal of the handcuffs. I heard her walk over to the little work table and slip off her heels. "Come here." But I wasn't fast enough. My mind was muddled and I didn't have much grace with my hands locked behind my back and honestly, my legs were jelly. I got another shock harder than the first two. When the pain let up, body trembling, I managed to get to my knees and crawl over to where she sat at the small table.

She had my wallet out and was going through my cards and IDs. She pulled my business card out and tapped it on the desk. "Is this where you work?"

I squinted up and nodded. Her nyloned foot came up squarely in the center of my chest and pushed me onto my back. "Stay there," she said, opening up her laptop. I stared at the hotel ceiling. This was insane! Naked, handcuffed, gagged, collared like a dog with a shock collar, on the floor of a hotel room, a room like any of the hundreds I'd stayed in over the years. Except this one was different. Horribly different. Real fear gripped me.

I heard her tapping away for a good five or ten minutes. When she was done she looked down at me and with an evil smile, tapped the key underneath her finger. "You've just resigned. I've given instructions to send all severance benefits to my address for your signature. Which you will provide without hesitation. Now stand up."

Not wanting to get another dose of pain, I struggled to get to my feet. She was shorter without her heels, the top of her head coming up to maybe my nose so I was forced to look down at her. "You won't be standing in my presence very often but for now, I need to get you secured so I can complete the process. Lay on your stomach on the bed."

I did what I was told. If what she'd just said was true, she'd fucking made me lose my job. This was more than insane, she was more than insane. She had to be kidding. This had to be part of the role-playing game she had going in her head. Soon, she'd take the cuffs and collar and gag off and we'd have a laugh.

I climbed onto the bed and lay on my stomach. The first thing she did was buckle a leather blindfold on my head, securing it with the click of a padlock, by the sound of it. Then something was fitted over that, a harness of some sort with straps that ran over my head and tightened both the gag and blindfold. I felt metal snap around my ankles, more cuffs, and then my legs were pulled up behind me, the new cuffs on my feet chained around the handcuffs, folding me into a tight and painful hogtie.

Then I felt her sit on the side of the bed and heard her put something on the nightstand between the two beds. Then she stilled. "Listen," she said and pain exploded from my collar. "I've got a sound sensitivity monitor synced to your collar. Any sound you make will shock the fuck out of you." The whole time she's speaking, I'm writhing around on the bed screaming through the gag. Blessedly it stopped when she stopped talking.

She got off the bed and I moaned under the gag and the collar exploded again. Her soft laugh sent another wave of pain through me. I lay perfectly still, straining in my uncomfortable position, scared to make a noise. I heard her walk to the table, the sound of keys and then the door opening and closing, the final click sending another wave of electricity through me. Alone now in the sterile hotel room of this most insane crazy woman, I felt like I needed to cry. She was gone for an hour or so. In the meantime, every door slam out in the hall, every loud conversation past my door, every car horn or plane overhead caused the damn collar to go off. I lay there blinded and gagged, in fear of the next noise that would cause me pain.

Finally, the door opened and closed, both giving me shocks, and I heard her approach the nightstand. When she next spoke, the collar was still. "I've checked you out of your room, thrown away all your crap, and returned your car. My taxi back to the hotel is on your card. Or what's left of it. I've transferred as much as I can over to my accounts. Tomorrow we'll finalize the transfer of all your assets to me."

She sat down on the side of the bed and smacked my ass a few times, each sting causing me to arch against my throbbing wrists and ankles. "This is how the rest of the night is going to go. I'm going to dress you in pants and shoes and a long overcoat. You're going to stay cuffed with your hands behind your back. I'm going to walk you down to my car in the carport and you're going to be secured inside. At no time will you make a noise or try to resist me in any way. I'll send a shock to your collar and tell whoever is interested that you suffer from seizures and I need to get you home. Believe me, I'll flash some leg and dangle a twenty in front of them and they'll help me get you into my car. Now I'm going to take the harness, blindfold and gag off and you're going to tell me you understand."

She removed it all, leaving me still in a tight metal hogtie. I blinked against the bright light of the hotel room and worked my sore jaw. Then I was hit with another blast of pain. "I asked you a question."

I rolled my head away from her and stared at the neutral stripes and flowers on the generic hotel wall. "Yes," I whispered. "Yes, I understand."