Trained to Obey 2
Trained to Obey 2
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kirsten is now completely compliant to her owner’s will and is sent on her first mission - the recovery of Maria, whose blackmailed sexual slavery still holds her captive.
After rescuing the hapless girl, the training of both women continues while the rebel band seeks to discover the fate of their comrade. Once successful they try to mount a rescue before the officer breaks her will and renders her an obedient servant who is lost to them forever.
A race against time ensues between the forces as the officer uses ever more fiendish and cruel torments and pleasures to render the girl a submissive pet, the expert training making it uncertain whether she will turn on her owner or her friends when they come for her.
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Trained to Obey
Copyright © 2012 Bruce McLachlan
ISBN: 978-1-77111-307-6
Cover art by Angela Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Smashwords Edition
Trained to Obey
Trained to Obey Part Two
By
Bruce McLachlan
Prologue
Kessler looked out of the window at Downing Street, greeting a new day with a blank snarl.
The sun was fighting against the maze of glassen towers that formed the heart of the city, bathing the spires in golden radiance as the streets below remained in chill twilight.
She briefly surveyed the ranks of heavily armed KGP on the road outside, each poised to lay down their lives for her. The troops still seemed eager and alert despite the numbing cold in the air that made their breath emerge in billowing clouds and the relatively miniscule chance of a mutant assault.
The final stages of the plan were looming and it was startling to see just how far they had come. The Covee had heaped their praise on her for her accomplishments and rightly so. The group hadn’t been expecting to be able to implement such sweeping advances for at least another thirty years. But she was never one to endure the straits of patience and had sunk her teeth into the plot with fanatic zeal the moment she had been made aware of it.
Fifteen years ago, as she was in her last years of school, she had been approached by the group known only as Covee. Every blood test performed throughout the country had been screened by them for decades, seeking the pure bloods, looking for those exceedingly rare beings who bore no trace of genetic anomaly.
Covee had recruited her into the conspiracy, teaching her a little of the plot at a time, testing her loyalty, making sure she was truly one of them before embracing her into the grand scheme.
The plan had been in preparation for generations, hatched by displaced nobility from some distant and forgotten era who craved the return of their power on a global scale - compensation for the humiliation of their initial degradation.
The treasuries of these disinherited nobles brought Covee to life and since then they had been seeking the way through which their birthright could be recaptured.
Formed by a core of women cleared of genetic error, they had patiently been setting the scene for their eventual ascendance to ultimate power over all things. They had moved themselves into key positions, slotted each other throughout every facet of power and influence, married into what they could not gain by bribery, coercion, seduction, or charisma. First came the goal of equality and then the machine started to accelerate, allowing them to exploit the politically correct attitudes to snatch previously unavailable posts and positions. With numerous other more qualified applicants vying for a post, a few outraged calls from their operatives in equal rights movements gained them their objectives with ease. Consolidating their might, they had started to build their secret empire, expanding to infect every quarter of power in the globe. There was nothing Covee couldn’t touch.
In addition to financial and governmental power, Kessler and her predecessors had orchestrated the influencing and control of all media, and for years now fetishistic designs had been slowly encroaching into everything from pornography, newspaper, advertisements, film, television, and music. Use of rubber, leather, PVC, stiletto heels or a dominating stance on a luscious and adored female model or actress was serving to program males and females alike. From childbirth they would know this as an image of beauty, its unattainable quality only making them more susceptible to the ravages of submissive behavior before their material icons. Even Covee had been taken aback by the effects when the mindless fashion tsars thought this a new trend and as one cohesive force turned every media campaign towards such imagery, creating an indoctrinating world wide barrage.
With the program running amok, the quest for real dictatorship was set in motion. An enemy was needed to unify the people and distract them so the reigns of power could be hoarded without complaint. Mutants were ideal, and because of the rigorous scanning process no member of Covee could possibly be one or even be related to one.
First the true mutants were to enslaved, then, once the population had become oblivious to such slavery the borders of deviance would be expanded a little more, then some more. Virtually every human had corrupt or anomalous genetic material and with the levels required to be classified as a mutant dropping constantly, no one would be safe from the KGP, not even the Knights themselves. Finally, at some distant date, everyone would a helpless, trained and obedient subject, leaving the conspirators in full and unquestioned power.
Simple use of such fetish devices could be used to cripple resistance and subdue even the most recalcitrant mind and would be instrumental in ensuring a quick defeat of those condemned to state slavery. But on
the current mutant slaves it was not as effective as it should be, their isolation and fugitive status distracting them from the images about them, the effect of adverts and television rarely seen and when they were, other matters such as survival and evading capture were more pressing.
When the normal folk would start to be arrested and shipped to training camps, then the process would be far quicker.
The time of change was upon them. Everything was going like clockwork. Kessler smiled to herself and wandered back into her bedroom, dreaming of what delicious events the future would unveil.
Chapter One
Sealed within her shimmering new skin, Kirsten scampered forward on all fours, the dark studs that ran down her body in precise lines winking in the light as she passed beneath the overhead bulbs. A leather collar had been buckled about her throat. The D ring at the front bore a leash whose chain links stretched out to enter the fist of her owner.
The Mistress sauntered on a regal stride, every step bloated with power as she towed her trained pet in her wake. Kirsten’s eyes were fixated to her form, aching to touch it, to lick it, to worship the goddess that had broken her spirit and rendered her a subservient beast.
A tight black leotard of polished latex clung about her elegant form, her arms clad in tall opera gloves of the same, the fingers removed to let her ebony painted nails emerge. One hand held the leash while the other clasped a riding crop, the candy striped black and red stem culminating in two rectangular leather tongues. Fine denier nylon poured down from the high cut thighs of the leotard, the seam down the back dropping as a perfectly placed line before vanishing beneath her patent ankle boots.
The strap falling between her buttocks almost vanished within the pert mounds, allowing a glorious view of her rear, one that hypnotized Kirsten with its beauty.
The front of the garment was laced from the neck down to the circular aperture placed at her chest, the opening granting a wondrous window into her cleavage. Her stern cap once more subdued her short blonde hair, the lingering portion of her military apparel keeping her fierce gaze in shadow to add to its ferocity.
At her side, fastened to the rubber was the small black control box that could make Kirsten suffer beyond all other torments.
One of the bland doors of her new world shuffled aside at the Mistress’ approach. Since Kirsten been brought here as a captive she had still not seen what lay within all the chambers, the anonymous halls bearing devices and engines to make her yowl for the sadistic glee of her owner.
Not that she minded. Kirsten was a hopeless addict to the whims of her Mistress now. Whether pain or pleasure she would jubilantly accept whatever was decreed as another part in her training to become the perfect property of her beloved owner.
From the hidden regions beyond the black steel walls another site of restraint had been brought into view, the mechanized torture chambers hiding their apparatus from her until the Mistress called them from their recesses. Kirsten briefly wondered what other nightmarish contraptions hid behind the secret doors about her and then turned her attention to her current mechanical adversary.
A telescopic steel pole had hydraulically ascended to a height roughly comparable to the middle of her back. At the summit another metal pole had been riveted horizontally into place to form the cap of a steel ‘T’. At the base, two telescopic poles lay curled back into the steel upright, each ending in a stern metal fetter that hovered a few inches from the ground.
Set back from the pole were two rings in the floor from which steel cable sprawled to connect to a heavy shackle, the weighty devices open and hungry for female flesh.
The Mistress brought Kirsten over to this strange device and removed the leash. Grabbing Kirsten by her hair she used it as a new lead by which to deliver her into the arms of the creation.
“Come on, slave. You’ve got more lessons to learn if you truly wish to be mine,” she purred, her eyes briefly flitting across Kirsten’s smothered form, the glance a decidedly licentious one.
Kirsten’s back was delivered to the highest horizontal pole and her arms lifted over it so that it pressed against her shoulder blades. The Mistress took hold of her ankles and brought them into the fetters. The cuffs instantly snapped shut to her extremities and then inflated from within. The rubber interior swelled with pressure, causing them to grab even more firmly to her flesh.
The wrist cuffs were collected and snapped to her, the interior billowing and compressing them as well, leaving her arms attached to distant anchors in the floor.
“Are we ready, slave?” asked the Mistress, standing before Kirsten, her eyes scrolling up and down the helplessly captive form.
“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Kirsten, suddenly afraid of what rigors awaited her. The bondage was obviously ready to intensify drastically at the merest touch of a button.
Opening a control hatch in the wall the woman flicked a switch and brought life to the assembly. Kirsten’s breath accelerated rapidly as the ankle struts began to elongate, forcing her legs outward, turning themselves into a most stringent leg spreader that had her inner thighs churning with strain.
The upright began to rise, digging the horizontal pole into her upper arms and lifting her from the floor. Kirsten croaked and bit her tongue as she was hauled into the air, the cables snapping taut and stretching her arms out. The machine slowed and continued to move in smaller increments, racking her body as the observing Mistress ensured she was gratuitously stretched.
Kirsten eventually cried out from the sheer havoc of her pose, her arms feeling ready to snap from their sockets, her body hanging from the unbearable steel bar.
“Mistress! Pleeeease!” she burbled.
“If you want to be mine you have to endure things like this, slave. Take the pain for me, learn to love it as you do me,” purred the woman, adopting a sultry pose that made Kirsten cling to her masochism and keep silent.
The machine stopped moments later and locked itself off, leaving her in torment, tears and sweat trickling down her face as she gasped for breath against the physical mayhem.
The Mistress opened another cabinet and retrieved rope before strolling back to her prisoner.
“There’s more to come, slave. Are you ready for it?” quizzed the woman, extending her gloved hand to let the knuckles glide down Kirsten’s cheek, the material gliding against the sheen of moisture.
“Yes, Mistress,” replied Kirsten, nuzzling against the touch.
“Good, slave,” she said, and began to apply the coils to Kirsten’s waist in the form of a crotch rope. She then tightened it with such strength that it made itself obvious to Kirsten even through her new skin.
Towing the excess out to the wall, the Mistress threaded it through a ring and jerked back upon it, stealing the slack and dragging Kirsten’s hips from the machine, stretching her even more acutely.
With her loins thrust forward, her body bowed and the rope digging into her, Kirsten mewled and sobbed as she tried to endure the heinous effects. The pain was already inexorably rising and she knew she would be begging for mercy soon unless she were gagged.
“Are you my slave?” asked the Mistress, moving back out of the shadows near the wall. Clapping the head of the crop into her gloved palm she revealed that Kirsten was about to be flogged.
“Y…yes…uuh…mmm…Mistress, uh, oh, yes…I am,” she moaned, grunting and groaning as she tensed and pulled at her bonds, unable to move in the slightest and feeling as though she would scatter apart into pieces at any moment.
“This is very becoming on you, my little pet. You always manage to look so ravishing in your bondage,” commented the woman with a smile, using the crop to trace the shivering curves of her slave.
“Th…thank yo-oooh! Ah! Mistress,” she croaked, her eyelids fluttering as fresh beads of sweat welled on her brow and new tears formed in her eyes.
“Do you like your new skin, slave?” she asked, lifting Kirsten’s grimacing chin with the crop.
“Yes…uh…oh…Mmm
mgh…istress, I do,” she wheezed.
“It needs to be fed. That’s why I’m going to bleed some sweat from you, slave. I’m going to water your new skin a little, make sure it stays nice and healthy,” she uttered and without warning the crop jerked back and dropped down to Kirsten’s vulnerable thigh.
The vigor with which the riding implement was applied negated the protection of the new skin and Kirsten’s jaws leapt apart with a stifled shriek.
Panting, she wriggled against her bonds, the muscles of her stretched leg twitching as her toes and fingers clawed insanely at the air.
The woman applied another stroke, and another, targeting Kirsten’s buttocks and the fronts of her thighs, laying down a slow steady deluge to give Kirsten plenty of time to recover and endure the full effects of each heinous stroke.
Between her howls of travail Kirsten unleashed croaks, whimpers and snorting gasps in answer to the searing clap of the weapon to her body.
With her legs curdling with inner heat, Kirsten saw the Mistress lift her attention and then begin harassing her breasts, dropping the tip of the weapon to her assets with steady swipes.
This time Kirsten screamed with the first impact, her body starting to manifest motion as she thrashed more frantically than ever before, her muscles being pulled, her joints squealing in protest as she battled her trammels. Crying out in distress, the song of her sorrow only made the Mistress more dedicated in her attack, concentrating her impacts to the hidden points of her nipples.
Kirsten wept and bellowed incoherent half strands of words that spilled freely from her throat as she was mercilessly disciplined.
Occasionally during her offensive the Mistress grabbed the crotch rope and pulled at it, increasing the strain and causing the strand to chew more aggressively into her slave’s sex as the swipes of the crop continued to fall.