Stephanie's Slave Journal

Stephanie's Slave Journal Part 2

Author's note: this story features non-consensual sex (aka rape) and some mild to medium torture, although not much really, and certainly none of the vicious stuff that actually injures people.

Disclaimer: Although my stories are fantasies, as practically all stories are on sites like this one, I try to make them realistic to the extent that I don't generally show the victims coming to enjoy what happens to them (with the exception of Angelica, who is a hard-core masochist). I am not a woman and I have never been raped, but I can't imagine any woman getting pleasure out of a real rape, as opposed to a role-playing fantasy rape. That notion only fuels rape culture, with its tropes of "She actually enjoyed it," and the perennial "She was asking for it." So, although they have learned to submit to the inevitable, my female characters seldom enjoy what happens to them.

Stephanie:

As promised, here is another one of the more interesting incidents from my journal, edited for "publication" -- which means sitting on my computer's hard drive, since Theo doesn't let us send anything out. Still, I find it therapeutic to write these things down, and some of my fellow slaves seem to enjoy reading them. Maybe some day more people will be able to access them.

If you're new to Theo stories, you can go back and read some background, such as "Stephanie's Slave Journal" and "Theo's BDSM Slave Service." But you don't have to if you don't feel like it. This journal is episodic enough that you will have no trouble picking up the situation. All you really need to know is that Theo runs a brothel staffed by totally involuntary slaves, and that he caters to customers with a taste for non-consensual BDSM. Once a night, we each have no choice but to let one of his customers do pretty much whatever he wants to us as long as he doesn't do any real damage.

So, here's an entry that describes a decidedly non-typical event in the life of a sex slave.

January 2, 2019: A New Toy

Theo had shut down his operation for New Year's Day. We don't get a holiday very often -- Theo says that he can't handle the lost revenue -- but I guess he was feeling generous for some reason. Or maybe he needed a break himself. Regardless, that meant that on New Year's Eve, he could do what he almost never does and let us see in the new year with a few drinks -- in some cases, more than a few -- without worrying that we wouldn't be in shape to do our duty to his clients the next day. All sixteen of us hung around the common room watching the celebrations from New York and Ottawa on television and making repeated trips to the open bar and snack table Theo had provided. Some of us were pretty much the worse for wear the next morning, but I had tried to keep my intake reasonable, knowing that I had become totally unused to alcohol during my four years of captivity with Theo and with the Asshole Brothers who had enslaved me previously.

On January 2, we were back at work. I was on the afternoon shift, which is typically slower than the evening shift, so there were only six of us on initial display rather than the usual twelve. We were lined up in the showroom in our usual condition: naked except for stilettos, bound, gagged, spreader-barred, and standing in a row impaled on dildo poles fastened to the floor while prospective customers came in one by one, inspected us far more intimately than anyone would have liked, and led their selection off to one of the "entertainment suites" to be subjected to whatever indignities the client fancied.

The afternoon was wearing on, and I had been standing there for almost an hour. Four women -- Rasheed, Anabelle, Jess and Serena -- had already been selected and replaced by four more to keep the selection up. Fortunately our spreader bars were only half a metre long or so, so it wasn't too hard to stand there, but my legs were beginning to ache and the microfoam tape over my mouth was beginning to get really annoying. If anyone isn't picked by the end of the hour, Theo usually lets her take a break for a while, replacing her with another slave if he has any in reserve. The hour was dragging more slowly than usual that afternoon -- maybe a bit of residual effect from my New Year's Eve blowout, even though I'd tried to be restrained. I was getting sufficiently bored that I almost longed for something unusual to happen to me tonight, rather than the usual bind, flog, fuck routine that the less imaginative clients favoured. I had long ago resolved to be careful what I wished for, but still I longed to get this moving and maybe have something that could count as a bit of an adventure.

The next person who came into the showroom to make a selection was a bit different all right -- a woman. We don't get many women as clients -- evidently most lesbians with a taste for bondage can find partners who will play along with them. But every once in a while, we get one for whom being played along with isn't enough. Like most of Theo's clients, such women crave a victim who is not just a BDSM weekend play slave but rather a genuine slave, a woman who is totally incapable of resisting anything a dom wants to throw at her.

"OK, Stephanie, you wished for something a bit different," I said to myself. "This will probably fill the bill."

This woman was white, medium height, with long hair so black it must have been dyed. She wore a stereotypical dominatrix outfit, with high stiletto heels and a tight leather bustier that pushed her large naked breasts out over the top and revealed tantalizing cameltoe lips where it ended just centimetres above her naked crotch. Fishnet stockings finished the picture of a hyper-sleezy domineering bitch-woman. She didn't pack a riding crop, but it was a safe bet that she'd be using one, and more besides, once she got one of us to an entertainment suite.

As usual, she walked up and down the line a couple of times, admiring all the women and what we had on display. From time to time she absently ran a finger between her labia and gave herself a gentle warm-up feel. Finally, she stopped opposite me. She ran her hands over my breasts and thighs and gave me a caress on the side of my face, just above the tape gag. I could smell a bit of aroused-pussy aroma on her fingers already.

"This one, I think," she said, and held out her hand for the hex key. She unlocked the telescoping dildo pole and slid it out of my vagina, and unfastened the spreader bar between my ankles so I could walk with her. She also removed the ankle cuffs that it weas clipped to. However, she left on my wide neoprene handcuffs and the tape on my mouth.

As we walked down the hall, I nodded hello to Jake, who was sitting patiently at the end of the hall keeping an eye on the surveillance cameras on his iPad, his baseball bat by his side. He smiled and nodded back. He's our bouncer, and his main job, aside from unfastening women when clients are through with them, is to ensure that no client ever goes too far and really injures a slave. Theo is very protective of his painstakingly "recruited" and broken-in property.

When we entered the entertainment suite, the client pointed to the floor and said, "OK sweetheart, get on your back." Obediently, I laid down on my back on the rubberized surface of the floor and waited to see what she had in mind. Gazing up at the chains hanging from pullies near the high ceiling, I had a pretty good idea. The idea was confirmed when the client went to a shelf and selected a pair of suspension cuffs. The ankle cuffs that we start out with attached to the spreader bar are wide and flexible enough to serve safely as suspension cuffs, and I have frequently found myself dangling from them. However, they aren't exactly purpose-built, and are usually uncomfortable when used to support a slave's entire weight. In particular, they tend to cut across the instep, leaving an angry-looking groove that fades by the next day but which makes the whole experience pretty unpleasant. The suspension cuffs made for the purpose have extensions that come down across the instep and support that part of the foot. Plenty of adjustment buckles ensure a snug but not over-tight fit, holding the foot firmly enough that there is no chafing.

If anyone is reading this except me and my fellow slaves, and are thinking of trying some suspension, do keep this in mind: use proper cuffs. Ropes, metal shackles and other restraints are a really bad idea and can cause burns and even nerve damage.

Even with the purpose-built cuffs, I am no fan of being suspended upside down, especially with my hands cuffed and my mouth gagged. Technically, I guess, it's no more helpless-making than lots of other ways clients like to restrain us, but somehow it makes me feel even more helpless than usual. Also, I really don't like the way the blood rushes to my head and makes me feel slightly queasy. But I was in no position to choose how I would be restrained. That's what it means to be a real slave rather than a consensual bondage partner.

As the client pulled on the chains and the compound pullies did their work, I was slowly pulled upwards feet first. As the angle of my chest changed, I could feel my breasts rolling up from their downward-pulled position until their normal pear-shaped contours reversed. I think that's one of the things that clients find erotic about suspending a woman in this position. Another one, I'm sure, is that because my ankles were fastened to two chains running over separate pullies about a metre and a half apart, the higher my body got, the wider my legs were forced apart and the more my smoothly-waxed pussy and puckered asshole were displayed.

The client stopped when our crotches were exactly level with each other's faces, and wrapped the pull-chains around a davit on the wall. Even though my legs were uncomfortably wishboned, I was glad she had used two chains. I have occasionally been suspended by a single chain, which doesn't pry the legs apart but leaves one vulnerable to swaying and spinning. If I had ever really cared about my pussy being on full lewd display, I had gotten over it years ago, and I preferred my legs apart and my body reasonably secure.

As I expected, she started with some pain. She selected a long-handled flogger that looked like an overgrown fly swatter. The flat flogging end was designed to not do the kind of damage that a real whip can do, its tip too broad to really cut into flesh. But wielded by someone with the intention of making someone hurt, it could be quite a fearsome weapon. She was giving me a heavy workout, bringing the flogger down on my skin not with light flicks but with full-arm swings that stung like fire and left angry red marks. The blows were hard enough to make my body jerk in its chains. My breasts are too firm to bounce exactly, but I could feel them jiggle with each flogger-propelled jerk.

She concentrated mostly on my back, thighs and ass, drawing little yelps of pain from behind the tape. Then she finished off with a heavy blow to first my right nipple, then my left, and finally on my exposed pussy. Those blows drew full-throated, albeit tape-muffled, screams of agony and a violent, if useless, thrashing. It was easy to see why this experience was worth $2000 to her -- she would have a lot of trouble finding a consensual sub willing to take this level of abuse.

That final scream seemed to complete her warm-up. Throughout the flogging session, her left hand had been exploring her pussy gently, obviously getting more and more aroused at the experience of flogging the hell out of a helpless naked woman. Now she put down the flogger, came close and started exploring my pussy as well. She parted my labia and ran her fingers over my clit and back to my vagina. She stepped over to the night-table beside the bed and got a dollop of lube from the two-litre pump that always sits there. She lubed up my entire vulva and slipped two fingers up -- or in this case, down -- my vagina. She curled them slightly and started massaging the upper wall where my G-spot resides.

With various parts of my body still burning from the flogging, I didn't feel the least bit aroused, although I suppose if I were more masochistically inclined, I would be feeling quite a rush right then. Mostly I was just glad to be having something non-painful done to me for a change.

Between the obvious arousal from messing with my pussy and the exertion of flogging me half to death, she looked hot and sweaty. She stopped what she was doing for a minute, reached up to the top of her dominatrix outfit, and pulled a zipper right down to her crotch. The outfit fell open and she shrugged it off, leaving her totally naked except for the stockings and stilettos. She wasn't even wearing a garter belt, so I wasn't sure how the stockings were staying up -- maybe a bit of Skin-Tac or some other mild adhesive. Regardless, her body looked a lot less confined without the slightly ridiculous outfit, and her breasts dangled where she could rub them against mine.

She reached down, peeled the tape off my face, and put her hand behind my head to bring my lips up against her pussy. As a career heterosexual when I have the chance, I didn't have a lot of experience pleasuring women, but I had been learning fast. My occasional nights when Jess and I comforted each other in bed had taught me a lot, and I combined that with what I had liked by way of oral sex in the before-time, when I had relationships with men who actually wanted to pleasure me rather than just hurt me and get themselves off.

I circled my tongue slowly around her clit and then took it between my lips and sucked gently, starting her off slowly at first. I took side trips from her clit to lick and suck her labia, pulling them gently out until they were stretched to what I guessed would be just before the point of pain before releasing them. I tongued her vagina a few times; my tongue isn't particularly long, so I couldn't really penetrate her with it, but judging by her deepening and accelerating breathing, she was enjoying the attempt.

At first she kept up her fingering of my pussy, and I have to admit that the effect of the mutual feedback as we worked on each other simultaneously was a touch arousing, if not really stimulating. But as I worked on her, she gradually got more and more focussed on her own deepening arousal, and just left her hand on my clit without playing attention to what she could be doing with it. That suited me fine. I didn't mind a pleasant touch for a change, as opposed to what clients usually do when they touch me, but I can't say that I was especially in the mood for lesbian sex right at that moment. I was mostly interested in keeping her busy so she didn't decide to do anything else that might hurt me.

The musky smell of female arousal filled my nose as she got increasingly involved in the signals her body was sending. I have never found that scent, which I imagine is designed as a male attractant, to be unpleasant, and I took it as a good sign -- I was obviously giving her what she wanted, which is never a bad idea with a client who has total power over you.

Eventually her entire body stiffened, her back arched slightly, her eyes screwed shut, and she held her breath while what was obviously a powerful first orgasm coursed through her. As it subsided and her breathing began to settle back to a deep, post-orgasmic rhythm, I wondered if she'd let me down now that she'd found the release she had come here to get.

No luck on that score. That's one of the main disadvantages with female clients. A man can come once, often twice with a little break and the right stimulation, but seldom more. After that, male clients are likely to just wipe up whatever mess they've made of themselves and walk out. Women, on the other hand, are capable of many more orgasms, especially after the first one has paved the way.

Once she'd settled down, she redoubled her efforts on my personal equipment, licking and sucking my clit and going back to running her fingers in and out of my vagina. I went back to work on her, and it wasn't long before she stiffened in another orgasm, not as intense as the first but evidently very satisfactory. Several more followed in quick succession before she finally pulled away from my mouth and panted to regain her composure.

Once she'd accomplished that, she pulled on the other set of chains and gently set me down on the floor. I was extremely glad to be finished hanging upside down, and hoped that that would be all for this session. I glanced at the clock and was dismayed to see that the client still had a little over half an hour left on her time. Not many clients are wiling to leave that amount of unused time on the table.

She rolled me over onto my side and unfastened my wrist cuffs from each other, then rolled me onto my back again. She attached the cuffs to two rings in the floor and did the same with the suspension cuffs on my ankles, hooking their d-rings to two other rings on the floor with karabiners so that I was pinioned in a spread-eagle. Evidently she was finished with my mouth, because she completed her bondage rigging with a wide panel gag with a built-in stuffer ball. It couldn't have mattered less how much noise I made, but she obviously enjoyed the sight of a completely helpless and silenced woman.

I wondered if I was in for another flogging session. I wasn't quite over the burning pain of the first one and my skin was still covered with red patches, so this was not a very agreeable thought. However, she had other ideas. She went to a shelf and got down something I had read about but never experienced: a so-called strapless strap-on.

One end was a conventionally-shaped dildo, a curving penis shape in what appeared to be purple silicone. The other end was a large bulb somewhat like a butt plug, expanding to a bulge that would sit roughly on the wearer's G-spot before tapering to a slimmer section where it joined the cock part. A small finger curved up in front like a trigger, positioned to sit on the wearer's clitoris for extra stimulation.

From what I had read, I knew that it took practice and a lot of pelvic floor training to use a strapless successfully. First, people with vaginas have to get used to the thrusting motion that people with penises have done all their adult lives. This takes time to master, as the motion is unlike anything one normally does with a vagina. Then the wearer also needs Kegel muscles of steel to hold the thing in a wet and juicy vagina. Many women never manage to get to this level even with all the Kegel exercises in the world, and use a harness to secure the dildo. In this case, the double-ended feature is just to give the wearer maximum stimulation rather than to keep the contraption in place.

This woman was going to use it the way the sex toy ads swore it was intended to be used, with only the wearer's muscles to secure it. She didn't bother with any extra lube on her end; presumably after the number of orgasms she'd had, more lube was totally unnecessary and would only give the strap-on more reasons to come out of place. She just bent it back slightly to move the bulb, or "pony" as one article called it, a little further away from the clit-massaging finger, and then slipped it all the way in. When she released it, the finger moved back to rest on her clit and helped to hold the thing in place with a slight pinch.

I had to admit that it looked unbelievably erotic once she had it in. The penis-like part looked as though it was a part of her growing from her vulva, poking out between her lips just below her clit, the bright purple colour making a striking contrast to her white skin.

She knelt between my splayed legs and covered my end of the dildo with a generous dollop of lube, which was an excellent idea considering that I wasn't especially aroused despite the amount of work she'd done on me with her lips and tongue. She used her fingers to pry apart my labia and guided the dildo into me. She used a succession of shallow, light thrusts to work the head slowly further and further into me until she could plunge its entire length into my vagina -- "balls deep" as a balls-equipped person would say. Maybe "clit deep" would be the appropriate term for this circumstance. Regardless, she began swivelling her hips as expertly as if she had had a penis all her life.