After several months of living with me free of charge, Olivia suggested that Madison should get a job, and contribute to the cost of running the household. It was comical really, given the fact that my trust fund paid me one hundred and sixty thousand dollars per month, and was due to increase to two hundred and twenty five thousand dollars per month, on my twenty-first birthday.
However, Olivia was adamant that Madison not be given a free ride, and so I arranged for her to get a paper-route, delivering the Orange County Register seven days a week. Madison was understandably humiliated by the prospect of delivering newspapers in our immediate neighborhood, particularly as she didn't own a car. Her new job required her to get up at five in the morning, and took her almost three hours per day to complete. At the end of the first pay-period, she received a check for just over three hundred dollars, and at Olivia's insistence signed it over to me, as payment for her food and lodging.
"You don't need money, Madison," Olivia taunted. "I cut your hair, and we let you buy whatever clothes you need at the Goodwill store. You don't have any other expenses to worry about."
There were a couple of incidental benefits of Madison's paper-route that didn't become obvious until she had been doing it for a few weeks. Firstly, being outside for long periods of time, caused some physical improvements in her appearance, as she lost some of her flab, and her milky-white skin began to turn brown. Secondly, as she met some of the neighbors for the first time, and word got around the complex that she was available to walk dogs, or water house-plants, she picked up some extra work, the payment for which Olivia generously allowed her to keep.
For the most part Madison and Olivia co-existed in my house, although Olivia started to expect oral-sex from her house-pet more and more frequently. She also dominated Madison more often, particularly when I was out of the house, although I didn't become aware of this until I came home early one day from a meeting that was canceled at the last minute.
As the months passed I turned twenty-one, and with the substantial increase in my monthly stipend, I upgraded my home, moving to a five thousand square foot house on the sand in Newport Beach. Located as it was in a small community of custom homes behind a secure guarded gate, my new place had a five-car garage, a huge circular driveway and, more importantly to Olivia, enough rooms that we could designate one as a punishment room.
Olivia had spent many hours in Baldwin's specially designed, sound-proofed, quasi-torture chamber, and knew exactly how to equip ours. She hired a contractor to sound-proof it and to install black-out shades, so that she could add light-deprivation to Madison's ordeal. Once the ominous-looking room was finished, we installed a heavy-duty metal door, that could be remotely unlocked by my phone, in case of emergency. The finishing touches were applied by a local dominatrix, who walked Olivia through the purchase of bondage equipment and furniture.
Olivia had one wall mirrored from floor to ceiling, which enabled her to view Madison's anguished looks as she put her through her paces. Occasionally, she would make Madison strip naked, and Olivia would critique her hirsute, unattractive form, comparing her to a large, poster-sized print that we had mounted next to the mirror. Taken on Madison's best day, in very flattering light, with the perfect clarity and detail of a 4K camera, it was my iPhone home-screen for several months. Essentially a portfolio quality head-shot, taken moments after Madison had been treated to a full make-over, it was sufficiently alluring to have prevented me from hooking up with a high-class escort, when I was in New York staying at the Peninsula Hotel.
Koko had been flirting with me in the bar of the upscale hotel, we had agreed on price and I had outlined my sexual proclivities. One look at my phone to check the time, and that photo, depicting a perfect, flawless image of Madison, was enough for me, despite my raging erection, to walk away from that adorable young Asian escort.
That phenomenal image, blown up to larger than life size, cut Madison to the core. I am sure it contributed to her emotional fragility, as she stood there stripped of all her superficial, but highly desirable cosmetic touches, and was assaulted by a reminder of her former glory. In fact, if Olivia was feeling particularly cruel, she would put a naked Madison in the punishment room with the bright lights on, and just let her digest the picture, which highlighted the decline in her physical attraction.
There was a small glory-hole right under the poster, a four foot high box in which Madison could kneel, and anonymously service whoever Olivia felt was deserving of a treat. While they were getting sucked off, the guys could stare at the oversized photo depicting Madison in her glory days, while Olivia would constantly assure them that the girl in the box, was indeed the girl in the photo.
In fact, after I told Olivia that the Doctor at the sexual health clinic had assured Madison that the risk of STIs from oral sex was infinitesimal, Olivia increased the frequency of the sexual favors, handing them out for the slightest reason. My new security guards enjoyed regular trips to the punishment room, although they renamed it the pleasure palace. I felt secure knowing that they had increased the vigilance of their patrols, in exchange for the occasional trip into what they must have considered nirvana.
Of course, because Madison no longer drove, she wasn't required to present any identification to the security team in order to get a parking pass for her vehicle. So, they were never able to make the connection between the mousy, flat-chested, androgynous looking individual who slipped out of the gates at five thirty in the morning on a bicycle, and the goddess who adorned the poster on the wall above the glory-hole box, in which she knelt.
Painted black, and filled with predominantly black or stainless steel instruments of torture, it gave me the creeps to even go in there, and after a few weeks, we constructed a fake bookshelf to completely hide the entrance to the room. I didn't really have any sadistic tendencies, although I did enjoy subjugating women through anal-sex, particularly if I was their first time. Olivia however, got her jollies from putting Madison through the ringer, and on several occasions would emerge from behind the metal door in a very high state of arousal, and wanting to fuck.
The shock collar was on display on the wall of the punishment room, although Madison's compliance, achieved more through fear than actual pain, ensured that it never needed to be used. Olivia denied Madison any sexual release too, and as she got into her mid-thirties, and approached her sexual peak, she was on edge for much of the time. Olivia would restrain Madison and tease her mercilessly with a variety of sex-toys, driving her maddeningly close to orgasm, but not allowing her to achieve release.
After several days of tease and denial, Olivia would offer Madison a chance to enjoy an orgasm, extracting increasingly humiliating favors from her in exchange. At first, I found their interaction arousing, particularly as I usually ended up benefiting from Olivia's desires, once she got excited. However, as time went on, I withdrew from their sordid power games, and turned a blind eye.
I only interceded twice, and both times I was unfortunately too late to do anything other than voice my disapproval, after the fact. The first time was when I went out of town for a few days, to see a friend on the East Coast. On my return, a visibly defeated Madison was hobbling around my kitchen, making little effort to hide the pain she was in. I rarely asked Madison how she was feeling, content to see her world condensed to being a live-in house-pet, as payback for all the shit she had put me through.
However, seeking to ensure that she wasn't in need of medical attention, I asked her if she was okay, which resulted in her bursting into tears. As she pulled up the back of her Walmart sweatshirt, I was assaulted by the visual of a huge tattoo just above her ass.
The location was classic tramp-stamp, even though I felt the size of the marking was too large for her frame. Similar in size and design to the "Property of Maxwell" Henna tattoo, that Madison had forced Olivia to wear for her first interracial encounter, this permanent display of submission was a large inscription that announced that Madison DuPont was now, "Olivia's Bitch."
"What the fuck?" I blurted out involuntarily. "Did you consent to this, Madison?"
Olivia had joined us now, a look of pride on her face as she entered the kitchen waving a piece of paper at me.
"Here is her signed consent form," Olivia announced cheerfully. "Complete with the disclaimers about being over eighteen, not being under the influence of drugs or alcohol, and not being under threat of coercion. Signed and dated by Madison, and witnessed by the receptionist at the tattoo parlor."
As I perused the document, it was clear that while it indemnified Olivia or I from any legal action, there had to have been some underlying threat, for her to have signed it. It had shaken Madison to the core, as she adjusted to the reality that even when she eventually moved on, she would have a permanent reminder of her subjugation by Olivia.
"I like it," Olivia said proudly. "In fact I am taking Madison to the beach tomorrow, to show it off."
The second time I interceded, was when one of Madison's saline implants broke. She had undergone breast augmentation almost twelve years prior to the accident, and when I called the Doctor he was not overly concerned. He told me that the older implants only had a life-expectancy of fifteen years, and it was not uncommon for one or both to fail. Fortunately, the saline solution that filled the bag was not harmful to the body, and other than the unflattering look of misshapen, unsymmetrical tits, surgery was not a medical necessity.
