Trained to Obey 1 Read online

  “Me too,” certified Sarah.

  They all turned to regard Steven, their gaze wondering why he had not agreed as well. The implications of their stare was invidious to him and he turned on it with a stern growl, resentful that they suspected him of being any less concerned as to Maria’s fate.

  “You think I don’t want to find her? Of course I do. She’s one of us and we don’t desert each other. But we have to find out what happened and we aren’t going to be any use if we charge on in and get killed. We’ve been out here too long to let ourselves get caught now.”

  “So we do nothing? I—” began Paul.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We act but we do it right. You think you can wander into the city and not have every single mundane wonder if that eight-foot, three-eyed bloke is a mutant? Or get suspicious that six arms might not be a new fashion statement? Or if I’m more in need of a dentist and manicurist than anyone else on the face of the planet? We’ve got to be smarter than that or we’ll be right back in the camp again. Right?” He snapped, bringing everyone to a stunned silence, his heated words having calmed their impassioned responses. “Excellent. At last you’re thinking straight. Now, we go in as far as we can and then Sarah and Gary go in and start looking around, keeping clear of the Stalkers. I’ll go in with Anna once night falls. We’re the best trackers and if need be we can take up any surveillance. If we need to get into a fight we do it right and plan it like we always do. If we get careless now, we all get killed or caught and that leaves Maria lost and stuck wherever she is.”

  The group were quiet, seeing the truth in his words and agreeing totally. Steven had been unofficially elected as their leader long ago. In the camp he had guided and held them together in their most desperate hours. He had sacrificed himself on countless occasions for them and even Gary was assured to obey his commands for he issued them as undeniable suggestions rather than orders.

  “Now get packed, we clear out at dawn.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The night’s sleep had been fitful, her predicament making any periods of true sleep sparse and tainted by nightmare visions and recalled experiences that she would much rather have forgotten.

  A tug to her restraints twisted her arms and brought her to full awareness with a stark flare of pain. Looking up she saw the man looming over her, savouring her subjugation.

  “I’ve closed the store for today and took the opportunity to do some shopping.”

  Taking hold of her head he hauled her hair back into a firm ponytail and used an elastic band to tightly seal it. With her hair locked back he gathered up the folds of a latex hood and drew it down over her skull, sealing her within its firm clinch, the smell of the material washing through her nostrils. Straightening the wrinkles, he threaded her hair out through a tiny aperture and she found only two small eye-slits and a hole for her mouth and nose available to her.

  But this was only the first layer. After this skin-tight mask he added a leather hood, this one being far more potent for it had a high collar incorporated about the throat, the stern device buckled and embellished with riveted D rings to accept two heavy padlocks that sealed the mask and prevented any chance of removal. With her head reduced to a plain leather visage her only senses left were touch and restricted sight through two perforated discs at her eyes, the dim vision leaving her virtually blind. The slit at her mouth was zipped shut to seal a wedge of cloth in her maw, the lock at one end able to deny her access to her own mouth. She could barely air a low murmur, the unforgiving leather stretched so tightly about her head that it served to hold her jaws together in a firm clasp. Breathing through the slender vents at her nostrils was difficult, her wheezing respiration serving to restrict action lest her increased breath bring about starvation.

  With his servant diminished thus he could happily have her apply the rest of the attire, knowing that she could not risk escape with the mask in place.

  The penurious uniform was laid before her and unfastening her limbs he sat back to watch her slip into it, savouring the sight of her donning the skimpy attire.

  Examining it with disdain and rubbing her aching skin she sorted out what was required of her and began to dress. A black suspender belt clasped to fishnet stockings, the hose slipping into ankle boots, the dagger heel on the patent footwear becoming an unremovable bane as she found that she had to padlock the boots into place by use of close fitting stirrups. A gloss maid’s uniform hugged her figure closely and provided no undergarments, the only other additions being a small white apron and opera gloves. Demeaned in this outfit she remained on the floor, scowling within the cocoon of her mask, filled with anger and hate for her oppressor.

  “There, don’t you look fine,” he mocked. “Now, come here and kneel before me.”

  Maria failed to move, her contempt making her resistant to such humbling.

  “I thought you might not be agreeable to our little bargain so I made the appropriate purchases,” he warned and drew a slender crop from behind his couch.

  With a vicious hack he made the weapon sing against the air, the sound making Maria flinch as he arose. Cowering back, she moved away until she reached the wall where her trailing leg received a whimsical flick. With a howl against the hood she curled up tightly, the man hurling another trio of wild slashes into her, afflicting her seat, thigh and arm, painting angry welts on her skin and then returning to his chair.

  “Unless you want more, get over here and kneel before me.”

  Unfolding from her quailing position, her skin still throbbing from the blows, she crawled slowly over, hesitant as she entered the effective range of the crop.

  “Now bend over,” he demanded, indicating for her to prostrate herself with the tip of the weapon.

  No sooner had she begun to lower than his feet came up to rest upon her back, the man employing her as living furniture while he lounged back and flicked on the television via remote.

  Held beneath him she tried to settle into a more comfortable position, distracting herself from her volcanic resentment with recollections of how horrendous life was in the Sanctuary camp. The movement was detected and found to be irritating, a response that brought swift chastisement.

  “Stop wriggling!” He hissed, hurling a wide swipe into her rear, making her jolt beneath his feet and let out a squeak of pain, the material of her stretched skirt doing little to cushion the blow. Instantly she let herself go limp, unwilling to inspire further attack and listening to the television to distract from her current plight.

  It was the first taste of the media she had heard or seen in a very long time. The only radio broadcasts they listened to in the wilds were military and Stalker frequencies, monitoring their activity in case a sudden sweep were mounted that required them to evacuate the area.

  As she lay furled beneath her captor her limbs started to go numb from the weight upon them but she dared not move, instead she focused on the programmes, trying to turn her attention away from how much she ached.

  Maria could not help but realise just how radically they had changed. The indoctrination was subtle but potent, subliminally convincing the entire population to believe as Kessler’s government required in order to maintain their dictatorship. The villains and evildoers of film and series alike were mutants, the valiant heroes were often KGP or supporters of the Human Rights Party. Any immoral or reprehensible behaviour was always caused by a mutant or a mundane who had allied with one. Those who helped mutants or disagreed with Kessler’s views were portrayed as shifty and iniquitous, their characters easily detestable, irritating, or incredibly malignant. The view that all mutants were beings of inherent evil was not so much suggested as rammed down the viewer’s throat. The whole country was being systematically conditioned to loathe her kind and with everything from soap operas to blockbuster films to news reports strengthening such views the hope she bore that this persecution might someday end was shattered. There had been a slim hope. The rest of the world screamed its outrage at England’s tacti
cs to handle the mutant problem. Other countries with racist regimes had been worn down by through decades of attrition and sanctions by the rest of the globe and from this example many secretly hoped that the same would happen in England. Now Maria knew that no matter what the world did, the country would never allow mutants to be free.

  The hours continued to trail by, her legs becoming more lifeless by the minute, the flickering in the tissues demanding that she alleviate the stresses upon them.

  Slowly, carefully, she started to move them, hoping not to be noticed. The action was almost imperceptible but her tyrant had been looking for such an excuse and now that he had detected one he commenced her punishment with verve.

  “I warned you not to move,” he growled, lifting his feet and knocking her over with a sudden driving kick.

  Dropping onto her flank she flailed and grabbed her legs, the sudden wash of pins and needles crippling her resistance as her limbs seemed to explode with prickly sensation that gnawed deep into the flesh.

  Before she could react her wrists were snagged and turned so that they might be used as reigns, steering her over onto her front and then being tied at the wrist.

  “Foul little beast, I’ll teach you to disobey me,” he mumbled, and held them up in one hand to keep her pinned to the ground.

  The man paused as she pumped her legs, the heels scratching at the ground as he bent back further, making her shoulders light up with fresh flashes of intense suffering, the wells pouring throughout her chest and arms, making her shriek into the hood.

  Ignoring her weak cries he turned up the television and with the tip of the crop flipped up her skirt. Stepping onto the small of her back to further hold her in place he began to hurl vicious blows into the exposed skin. Fighting against his hold Maria shrieked and wriggled against the grapple holding her down, the penetrating bite of the crop driving her mad with calamity as it continued to fall and beat her relentlessly.

  Once the weapon had robbed her of all vitality he let go and stepped back, leaving her to wilt into an enervated heap, unable to move as she twitched from the residual pulse the beating had imparted upon her rear.

  Her hands were given temporary freedom before being re-secured in front of her, the long length of rope used to carry them up and behind her head, her wrists tethered at the back of her neck. A yank made her arch her back and cry out as the rope was hauled up between her legs, towing her hands down her spine and kindling further havoc in her shoulders. As she scowled and sought escape the rope was looped about her waist and affixed with a knot and a noose, leaving her snared by a tight hoop about her waist that dug into her hips and a single coil that flung between her legs to snatch her wrists. The coarse weave dug into her sex and made any movement chafe against the tender tissues, the need to try and get free imposed by the bizarre and uncomfortable position her arms had been forced into.

  Leaning in he began to grope at her PVC coated frame, his manhandling of her snared body making her wriggle upon the floor in a vain attempt to get away. The incensing pawing of her breasts and body caused her to elevate her own pains by moving the snare of bonds or rolling onto the plexus of sore contusions criss-crossing her rear.

  Moving her over onto her front he took her ankles and drew her back towards the ring in the wall, the carpet making the few portions of unshielded skin burn from a rough passage over the carpet. Rope sealed the struggling joints up to the ring and after tugging up her skirt he sat astride her shoulders, her head and crooked arms locked beneath him, pinning her down onto her front.

  The cackle of a match being lit seeped through the muffling hoods and filled her with concern. After a few moments an insubstantial splash fell into the cleft of her rear, the vague sensation of fluid suddenly giving way to a blast of infernal sensation as the hot wax radiated its molten talons into her skin. Shrieking, she battled with futile might as the candle drooled its discharge across her backside, the punished flesh burning with hideous intensity as she squealed and fought for freedom, her cries drowned out by the muffling hoods and the blaring television.

  The scorching rivulets trickled down between her legs and froze into bulbous stalactites after filling her skin with their havoc, the cover presented by the rope doing little to shield her loins. Wailing into the gag for him to desist she fought to squirm her way free, her face burning from the compressing hoods, a thin sheen of sweat rising between her skin and the first layer of latex. With her legs elevated and snared by their restraint, her arms trapped in their warped configuration and the organic weight that anchored her to one spot kept her utterly helpless. Her limbs could not defeat his bonds no matter how she spasmed and with merriment he continued to assail her with the horrifying splashes.

  Candescent rain started to splatter across her thighs, evading the suspenders and wandering inward to paint the more tender inner areas before meandering back across as she increased the pitch of her distress, the new areas reacting just as poorly to this torture.

  The coating of her flesh in a solidified crust of wax ended and the candle was set aside in favour of a single needle. The sewing implement was used as a most mordant means to remove the dried residue, picking at the remains with a casual indifference the occasional stab into her flesh being either caused from carelessness or purposeful glee. The tug of the globules as they held tightly to the tiny hairs that had cushioned them yanked out the thin pelt with every area cleared, stripping her to the bare skin. The jabbing thrusts into her rear and thighs took the session to new levels of intensity, making her weep incoherently for release or mercy as he continued to methodically pick away the encrusted shell with a fastidious relish.

  The last of the wax was torn from her and his intent to make her suffer was truly revealed for he began to dot her buttocks with random stabs, the pin pricks no less insufferable because of their minor harm to her. Few drew more than a single congealed jewel of crimson, yet all made her livid with duress.

  Stepping from her back he left her phased and torn from her ordeal, her mind thumping with a dull headache as her screams and agonised struggles continued to reverberate throughout her system.

  “Now, I would like to start you on some duties, but I think another dose of isolation and confinement might teach you some more about obedience,” he stated, and as she closed her eyes in dread he unfastened her ankles and drew her up to her feet.

  Maria swayed unsteadily, her legs weak beneath her from her fight and from the shock of her abuses. Her instability also arose from being unused to the ridiculous heels that she had been burdened with. Holding her upright by the bonds at her wrists he towed her over to a chair. Turning the wooden furniture around he placed the rear of her stockinged legs to the back of the chair. Taking up some lengths of cord he began to fasten her limbs to the struts, tying her legs tightly to the chair and trapping her in an upright stance. When he moved behind her and grabbed her wrists, her eyes bulged with shock and alarm at his decision.

  As he pulled she cried out, her spine smarting as it was bent backwards over the chair. The back of her skull descended inexorably towards the seat, the fabric of her uniform stretching tightly across her front as the rope chewed more drastically into her sore belly. Yowling from the tearing pain of being forced over she watched as he used another length of rope to connect her collared neck to the front legs, trapping her completely. Any attempt to straighten strangled and made the rope traversing her belly shift and grind abrasively, but she could not remain still, the torturous position was simply too excruciating.

  The state of anguish the pose had instigated rose massively as her oppressor stepped out in front of her inverted gaze, bearing the crop and flexing it between his hands before he drew her skirt up and moved it to just beneath her cleavage.

  Gurgling, she sought to rock her prison and topple it, to try and get her brazenly exposed abdomen out from beneath the shadow of this pernicious implement.

  The slender line lifted up over his head, causing her fear to rise with every delay
ed and drawn out moment. The crop fell with a howl and painted a venomous welt across her stomach, the heat of its application rolling deep into her belly and making her strain all the more frantically against her bonds. The wood and the ropes groaned as they sought to hold her maenad throes, the remorseless application of the weapon continuing without pause.

  A dozen blows coated her with a plexus of zebra stripes, leaving her even weaker than before and barely able to keep herself held in the least painful position the chair offered.

  Wiping the glittering beads of perspiration from his brow her abuser set aside his weapon with a lascivious glint in his eyes. Lowering his trousers, he hauled the crotch rope aside and took hold of her presented hips, using the flesh as reigns to steer his entry. With light jabs he sought her sex, probing until he found his quarry and entered with a rough jerk. The sudden molestation made her tense against her bonds and gurgle in outrage. As he slowly satisfied his libido with a ravishing he reached up to paw at her breasts and body, his hands running eagerly over the flesh, squeezing and cupping with a spiteful strength that made the rigours of this desecration all the more unbearable. Easing his rhythm he rested upon her contorted frame and clutched tightly as gasped and sated his lust, defiling the hapless slave.

  With a satisfied smile he withdrew, slipped the rope back into place and turned of the television. Rearranging his clothing and tidying his appearance he closed the curtains and left the flat, the slam of the front door indicating that she had been deserted to full isolation. Was he out shopping for yet more items to punish her? Should she attempt to make enough noise to attract attention? The condemnation to a camp was seeming less savage by the moment, the attention of this sadist being far worse than the neglect of the KGP. But if she could make him believe she was not going to attempt flight, she had a chance for genuine escape and once out of here she could get back to her comrades and not have to brave the Stalker hordes.