Trained to Obey 1 Read online

  With a sauntering march the woman approached, every shuffle of her frame oozing with the power she held over the prostrate slave. Seeing her dressed in such a manner sorely tempted Kirsten into finishing her sly masturbation.

  “Put this on, slave,” she ordered, taking the first item from the pile and tossing it before Kirsten.

  Reaching forward with trepidation as to what she might find Kirsten took it up and opened the heavy black folds to find a set of latex leggings, the sheaths of darkness reaching into incorporated socks. Amiable to wearing clothes rather than staying naked, she eased herself into the powdered hose, finding to her shock that they had several other additions to their construction.

  Two long thick black balloons of latex hung within, a nozzle on the outside revealing that they could be inflated to expand her insides and punish her.

  “Put them in, slave,” warned the woman, and resigned to their insertion Kirsten obeyed. Stealing a little of her natural lubricant from her sex she eased the rectal plug in and then slid home the vaginal one, shivering as her teased loins responded favourably to the entry.

  Drawing the leggings up, she found a further armament in the socks. The interiors were replete with a solid interior wall of small sharp spines that, while not big enough to penetrate the skin, made any pressure fire-stabbing flashes through her soles. The leggings were designed to stop her standing up, depriving her of an erect stance and humbling her even more.

  “Now this, slave,” said the officer as Kirsten straightened them into place, wiggling her hindquarters against the flaccid balloons.

  Taking up the issued leotard she slipped into it and lifted the front zipper up to the high collar, the front panel pressing her breasts in, hugging her torso and making every breath reveal just how tight the top was.

  “Take the nozzles out,” commanded the officer and at the loins Kirsten found two small apertures that allowed them to emerge and permit easy inflation.

  “Now stand up and turn around, slave,” came the next demand, and Kirsten winced and started to pant from the effects of standing on the prickly socks. She shuffled on her toes, seeking a means to ease their accursed influence but every time she tried she only succeeded in escalating it further. Standing still on the full space of her soles was the mildest pose and even this made her shiver with strain to stay still.

  The officer set the last articles aside and took two long sleeves before forcing them up her arms, tightening the incorporated buckles at her bicep, above and below her elbow and at her wrist to make it impossible for her to slough the gloves off. The ends culminated in a tight plain bag that compressed her digits into a single stem and from this plain glove spat a long strap.

  Kirsten croaked onto her gag as the officer folded her arms up her back, crossing them and throwing the belts over the opposite shoulders so that they crossed again at her cleavage and could be buckled tightly to a fixture at her jutting elbows. With her forearms pressed in an ‘X’ over her back and unable to lower, her gloved hands resting on her shoulder blades, Kirsten shuffled from foot to foot, the limbs pounding with fierce effects from the contortion, the joints already aching terribly.

  “Be still, slave!” The woman tightened them some more with a spiteful haul, subduing Kirsten’s resistance. “Good. Now legs apart, slave,” she added.

  Reluctantly Kirsten obeyed and had an inflator bulb screwed onto the anal nozzle. The officer applied her fist to the orb with swift squeezes and the balloon started to swell, forming into a hardened length that extended into her and billowed outward. She started to moan and quake as the rate of inflation continued, stretching her rear, choking it with the toy until she was mewling for the woman to desist. A severe burning throb sounded within her tracts as she clenched against it, manipulating her rear to try and spit it out, but the leggings and the crotch of the leotard held it in, cursing her to its influence.

  The vaginal bladder was next, stuffing her womb full of bloated rubber, the membranes far more susceptible to the painful effects of such internal inflation. With her lower half reverberating with swollen anguish, Kirsten felt the inflator come away and dust caps be screwed onto both the nozzles.

  “On your knees, slave,” ordered the officer, and Kirsten willingly wilted into such a stand, taking her feet off of the spines and removing at last one of the sources of discomfort.

  The booted feet of her owner stepped before Kirsten’s gaze, her reflection distorted upon the obsidian mirrors before her. The woman bent down and the locks at Kirsten’s head were unfastened. The gag deflated with a faint hiss, bringing an astounding relief to her stretched jaws. The plate came away, drawing the foul device out and letting her breathe properly through her mouth and wet her parched lips.

  “Lick them clean, slave,” the officer ordered sternly.

  To Kirsten’s dismay her face moved forward and her tongue extended without pause, revealing just how effective this programme of indoctrination was at re-tuning her psyche. With a lugubrious scowl she retreated back, fighting of the alien urge to comply.

  The officer vented a sigh and returned to the wall, watching Kirsten as she exposed one of the cabinets of armaments and removed a vicious cane, which she proceeded to bring to bear on Kirsten’s already well-tormented flesh.

  “No! Please, Mistress, don’t,” she whispered hoarsely, having been denied speech for so long that it was becoming a forgotten art.

  “Be silent, slave!” Roared the woman, casting a testy swipe into her legs, the pain making Kirsten yelp and drag herself into a tight ball. The latex did nothing to shield from the caustic effects of the cane, her arms could not help defend her, and when she kicked her legs the spines in her socks scratched at her.

  “Did I give you permission to speak, slave?” She hissed, applying another trio of injurious hacks to the prone flesh, each one backed by a full swing.

  “No!” Kirsten shrieked, unable to sustain the attacks in silence, each one making her spasm and tighten her hold on herself.

  “No, Mistress! You foul abomination!” She growled and lambasted her with greater fervour.

  “No, Mistress! I’m sorry Mistress! Forgive me, Mistress! Please!” Kirsten howled, seeking only to placate the woman’s wrath as she jolted and sobbed on the floor.

  “Again you speak without permission. Perhaps a taste of the cane will teach you more effectively than my warnings,” responded the woman with a smirk, having steered Kirsten into this felony and now continuing her chastisement with added brutality, the cane falling quicker and with greater strength.

  Clenching her teeth and wailing through a desiccated throat, Kirsten kept her words submerged in wails, bearing the chastisement as best she could. Her enfeebled form flapped upon the floor, the rubber squeaking against it as the power of rational action and response was lost and she simply bucked under each searing strike. Her writhing form was subjected to the Mistress’ justice in horrendous fleeting lessons that marked her suffocated skin with purple bruises from their sheer fervour, so eager and efficient a teacher was the officer.

  The correction ended and the Major indicated to the footwear with the cane and repeated her command.

  “Lick them clean or you shall have more, slave,” she remarked and recommenced the lambasting. The sober application of the bamboo and its unbearable welts destroyed Kirsten’s resistance after a trio of strikes and had her drop forward and slip her tongue across the smooth leather. Lapping at the material she was torn from derogation, the act a deep slice into her dignity.

  “That’s it, do it properly and don’t miss anything or I shall have to punish you further, slave,” warned the officer as she mused over the slavering captive.

  Keeping her will affixed on doing this duty correctly and avoiding any sort of reprisal, Kirsten covered each boot with a slow attention, polishing them with a tongue virtually devoid of moisture and barely able to meet the demands upon it. A creeping pleasure started to crawl through her as she worked, her weals still resonating with their
own pulse to feed her masochism. The woman stood erect and statuesque, eyes kept raised, hands on her hips, treating Kirsten’s attention as homage worthy of someone as elevated and regal as she. As she reached the top of the boots the smell of warm rubber poured through her nose and Kirsten yearned to lap at the spicy material, to work her way slowly up the firm sultry legs. Her painfully dilated orifices started to squeeze fondly to their trespassers, her arms hauling imperceptibly at their confines as her relish started to manifest more clearly.

  “Are you done, slave?”

  “Y…yes, Mistress,” she uttered, somewhat disappointed that she was being forced to stop.

  “Sit up, slave,” she decreed.

  Sitting erect on her folded legs, her compressed breasts thrust forward against the leotard because of her twisted arms, Kirsten stared at the rubber-clad abdomen of her owner as it moved closer. With the creak of latex she lowered into a crouch and lifted Kirsten’s chin, allowing their eyes to meet.

  “I’m doing this for your own good, slave. You need to be taught, to be trained. Is that not so, slave?” She asked softly, her tone radically different to the callous rancour that Kirsten had come to expect.

  “Yes, Mistress,” she answered humbly.

  “My slave needs to know her place, and through punishment you’ll learn to adore your Mistress. I have to be cruel to make sure you learn,” she continued, moving closer, her other hand running across the leotard, tracing Kirsten’s contained torso.

  “I have a reward for you, slave. But you must prove to me you’re worthy first,” she whispered, her lips drawing closer to Kirsten’s, her warm breath touching Kirsten’s cheek, making her melt with desire.

  “I’ll do anything for you, Mistress,” she muttered, and their mouths met, their tongues emerging to entwine and roll upon each other as a brief exchange of passion. Kirsten sagged in her bondage as she was kissed, this single act more than compensating for all her tortures.

  She felt the nozzle being attached to her vaginal balloon once more but did nothing save continue to enjoy the kiss. As the Mistress poured her tongue into Kirsten’s mouth, tasting deeply of her slave, she added another squeeze. Kirsten mewled softly, stiffening as her sex was expanded even more. The fervour of the Mistress’ kiss escalated instantly, her lust fuelled by sadism, in hearing Kirsten’s soft purls of distress. Again the bulb forced more air into the intruder and Kirsten gurgled with the new imposition. Twice more she was afflicted with more pressure, the deed making the Mistress shiver with delectation.

  “Worship my legs and rear, slave, and I’ll give you your treat,” she promised, backing up and rising to turn and present the rounded opaque mounds of her rear to Kirsten’s licentious gaze.

  Shifting forward, Kirsten pressed her lips to the salacious limbs rolling her tongue upon them, the potent tang searing her tongue, her loins starting to drip with concupiscence, the balloons slithering easily as the rubber held her juices to her.

  In a cloud of libidinous craving she slowly worked her way up to the final treat, and buried her face between the pert peaks, drinking in her submission, adoring the woman with zeal.

  “Good slave,” purred the Mistress, placing a hand to the front of her leggings and caressing herself through them as she savoured the feel of Kirsten’s fanatic attentions. “You’ll make a fine pet.”

  Stepping forward away from her attentions, the officer turned around and looked down at Kirsten, her mouth wet with saliva.

  “I’ll let you have some time to recover before we continue. This isn’t your reward, that will come later,” she said and started to unfasten Kirsten’s arms. The balloons were deflated and she was helped out of her latex attire before being escorted to the wall. A set of plain steel cuffs were used to elevate her hands and keep her standing on tiptoe and without word the officer hurriedly departed. Something was wrong—the woman had acted with almost abashed haste. Was she embarrassed of her own lapse in treating Kirsten with animosity?

  The door hissed shut and locked, the light snapping off to leave Kirsten standing naked in the dark, her arms stretched up the wall.

  Chapter Ten

  Stomping down the corridor Jessica punched viciously at the air, her face warped into a raging scowl. Cursing herself she tried to boil off some of her rage with such pointless physical exertion. It didn’t help.

  Stopping she leant against the wall and rubbed her temples, trying to sort out her distorted thoughts.

  You are a KGP officer. You are here to train a mutant to hunt its own. You do not love her. You not even like her. You hate her. She repels you. She is no different to any other hound you’ve trained. Stay focused. Don’t give in. She’s using some sort of power on you, something the inhibitor can’t block. Resist. Be strong.

  She was becoming too close to the girl, she had to try and seal herself off, put up walls, stop herself from being kind, compassionate. This was a mutant, a vile corrupted abomination, the enemy of nature and the country, not a beautiful enticing woman that she ached to explore, to indulge her carnal passions with. Jessica growled irritably as she realised where her thoughts were going again. Suddenly she felt something on her cheek and ran her gloved fingers across the skin to find a line of tears gently working their way down her face. Flinging the moisture from her digits she scowled and hissed with irritation at her own weakness.

  Marching into a room she opened a cabinet, grabbed a vibrator and sat in the steel chair that had initially held Kirsten. Lounging into the harsh seat she focused her mind and decided to burn off her swollen libido, to ease her sexual tension and let her operate as she needed to.

  Sliding the thrumming plastic finger into place she tried not to think on Kristen, to picture that innocent face locked between her thighs doing this deed with a fawning tongue, but the haunting image persisted until she climaxed.

  Chapter Eleven

  The door opened and the lights flashed on to pain Kirsten’s gloom accustomed eyes. Squinting she saw the officer stride menacingly forward and unfasten her before flinging her to the ground.

  “Come here, slave,” she barked, her callous nature restored in full as she marched away.

  Summoned to join her, Kirsten moved slowly, her body protesting vehemently with every movement of her contused and damaged frame.

  A hidden chamber offered up a straitjacket, the garment wrought in latex and embellished with numerous thick straps. What was far worse was the dense sheet of studs and coarse hair coating the interior, making the attire an unbearable restraint.

  With a merry flick the officer straightened it and opened the back zip to accommodate Kirsten’s entry.

  “In,” she stated forcefully.

  Kirsten desperately wanted to avoid being snared by this garb but what other alternative did she have? With her mind numb from the confinement and dizzy with exhaustion and starvation she rose to her knees and extended her arms to have them slotted into the thick sleeves. The weighty rubber jacket was hauled back to her chest, the cold studs brushing across her skin and sending shivers down her spine with their touch. It was a close fit, one that held the metal cones and hair lightly to her skin as the back of the jacket was zipped up to compress her torso within a soft grip. The woman grabbed her arms and folded them over, tightening the wrist straps and then clipping the mitten tips to the back of the thick coat. A crossed formation of secondary restraints were lifted up to snare her folded limbs, clasping her arms and holding them tightly to her chest as others encircled her entire torso to cocoon her fully. The increasing pressure made the studs dig deeper and hair itch abominably as Kirsten clenched her teeth and sought to endure this session with some tiny measure of courage.

  The need to remain stalwart vanished as the crotch strap was applied, the strip traversing her legs armed with two inflated balloons of dense latex. The woman’s rough fingers jammed them in and then hauled the strap until they were pressed tightly to her abdomen. The previous set of inflatables had left her openings raw and bruised and so with
a shriek she toppled onto her side, making every stud on that front jab into her skin. The sudden stab brought an instinctive response, that of rolling off of the punishing daggers with a spry jolt, this evasion causing another arsenal to pierce her. Without refuge she wriggled as a booted foot dropped onto her chest, the sole crushing her beneath its weight as an inflator was applied, the officer keeping her fixed to that spot.

  With swift pumps the loose sacs began to well within her, opening outward and stretching her already well punished innards, the previous abuse having left them tender enough that the touch of these orbs made her mind boil as fresh waves of excruciating mayhem were kindled in the tissues.

  “Please, Mistress, stop, I ca—” she burbled recklessly.

  “Be silent until I give you permission, slave,” growled the officer, increasing the rate of the inflation to turn Kirsten’s solicitation in a screeching yowl.

  Her internal muscles leapt into activity, their soreness making their use a further tragedy as she sought to eject the bloated spheres. She could shift the great bulbs but any fight to force them out only brought misery to her sphincters as they were forced open by the departing balloon and reached their tolerance before unleashing a glut of pain that destroyed her resolve and left her tracts to swallow the intruders once more.

  “Keep still!” The woman ground her heel into Kirsten’s torso, threatening to crack ribs with her correction. Torn by this new infliction of woe she sobbed and strained to subdue her cavorting response to this attack, but again failed to remain motionless to a satisfactory degree.

  “I said keep still!” Spat the officer, snatching up the cane and bringing it down onto her quivering legs with such force that she drew blood and imparted a long purple weal.