Trained to Obey 2 Read online

  The woman paused and for a moment Kirsten thought she was finally finished, but a final capricious hack into her breast made her neck strain upward, her eyes screwed shut as she announced her suffering as a keening holler.

  “Would my slave like to be gagged, so she isn’t so disobedient?” Offered the Mistress, running a fingertip along the quaking lips of her slave.

  “P…please, Mistress. I don’t want to…to let you down,” whispered Kirsten, thin trails of saliva stretching from her bottom lip. She couldn’t stop from begging under her Mistress’ torturing hand, she needed help to keep her quiet.

  “Okay. This time I will oblige you, but you will have to be punished some more for you lack of stamina, slave.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” answered Kirsten, knowing that if she continued to annoy her Mistress with words it would carry far graver consequences.

  The woman strolled to the wall and fetched a handful of pegs. Kirsten wondered where they were going to be applied and was graphically informed as the woman roughly grabbed her face and pursed her lips together with a brutal pinch before applying them in rapid succession.

  One of the implements at the center silenced her, letting a burbled whimper of protest seep through in answer to their crushing influence and two more on each side sealed her mouth more before another pair at the very edges closed her completely.

  Kirsten snorted through her nostrils, the throbbing pound in her lips growing steadily more acute as all feeling was wrung from them by the harsh grips.

  “There, now you look even better than before, slave,” uttered the Mistress, leaning down and running her hands across the taut body of her suffering property.

  Kirsten could make no sound or movement as she felt the woman caressing her, letting her hands wander in assessment of every portion of the racked form she owned.

  It was clear that she was besotted with such mordant acts. The Mistress reveled in seeing Kirsten so wantonly displayed and subjected to agony, and it was reassuring to have it confirmed yet again that the Mistress dominated for her own pleasure and enjoyment, not because it was her job, or her orders, but because she loved to do it.

  Kirsten tried to find some meager compensation in this libidinous groping of her form by her owner, to try and distract herself from her ongoing anguish.

  A hand forced its way between her buttocks and took hold of the fabric there. Tugs at the material that was now melded to the strange root growing into Kirsten’s rear caused it to yank at her, pulling at the thousands of tiny anchors in her tracts. The effect was hideous. The sensation of a thousand tiny clamps pulling at her rectum from within caused Kirsten to break into paroxysms.

  A soft keening hum spilled from her throat as she gasped for breath through her nostrils, the tiny vents barely adequate to supply her needs.

  The woman continued such capricious abuse for a short time, amusing herself by afflicting Kirsten’s insides via the medium of this alien trespasser. With a merry smirk she then arose to stand beside her captive.

  “Did you enjoy that, slave?” she mused, and again ran the back of her knuckles down Kirsten’s tear and sweat sodden cheek. “I think I’ll leave you here for a couple of hours to let you really start to suffer. Afterwards, I might give you a treat, slave,” she commented, and with a merry titter of a laugh she casually left the room, deserting Kirsten to her ordained ordeal.

  Every second of her imprisonment was spent praying for it to end, telling herself that she couldn’t survive another moment of such abuse while remaining completely unable to do anything to change it.

  Time was stretched out like elastic, becoming terribly slow, dragging its heels to increase the frustration and woe of her predicament. All she could hope for was that the Mistress would arrive and free her.

  When the door opened Kirsten was overjoyed at the prospect that this nightmare might finally be coming to an end.

  It was startling to so adore her Mistress for coming to free her, the gratitude a bizarre opinion in the face of the fact that it was this very woman who had so eagerly applied it in the first place. Kirsten was so preoccupied with the hope of freedom that she failed to notice that the woman was clad once more in her full military ensemble.

  The officer’s torso retained the latex leotard, her identity badge now clapped to her breast. Short black gloves were stretched onto her hands and black combat trousers hung on her legs, the utility belt laden with armaments and devices for her mutant hunting duties.

  “Have you suffered enough, slave?” pondered the Mistress, folding her arms before her chest as she let her eyes slide up and down the shivering physique of her property.

  “Mmmnnngh!” moaned Kirsten, bobbing her head frantically up and down.

  One by one the Mistress started to take away the pegs, each flight making Kirsten stiffen and cry out as circulation rushed back in and announced its displeasure in full. Each fulgent shock had Kirsten’s head loll as she whinnied until the final central peg was released and her aching lips could finally form words again.

  “Yes, Mistress!” snapped Kirsten through clenched jaws, fighting the urge to beg, trying to keep stalwart.

  “You are sure? You are completely subservient to me? I am your absolute owner?” she quizzed, perking an eyebrow in consideration.

  “Oh yes, Mistress. I am yours, I am your slave. I’ll do anything you say.”

  “If I asked you to stay on here another hour would you do it, slave?”

  Kirsten’s heart sank because she knew she would have to obey, she knew her quest to impress her owner took precedence over any amount of suffering.

  “I would, Mistress,” she whimpered, hoping that she wouldn’t be forced to go through with it.

  “Good, slave. I won’t hold you here for an hour, just long enough to ready you for duty,” she announced, producing a set of hair clippers.

  The teeth buzzed with motion and the woman started to plough them into Kirsten’s hairline, causing great sheaves of her hair to tumble from her. The attached head used its long forks to leave an inch and a half of hair across her head and after being taken away the clippers trimmed it far shorter and the sides. Kirsten could feel no great sense of loss because she now imitated the stern cut of her Mistress.

  “You can come down now,” smiled the Mistress, operating the controls to have the frame descend and release Kirsten’s trapped limbs.

  Kirsten collapsed into a huddled pile on the floor. Clutching herself she sobbed and shivered, enduring the powerful stab of returning feeling as it crept back through her long contained form. Pins and needles and myalgia wrung her limbs and body, rendering her a debilitated mess at the feet of her owner.

  “You may kiss my boots in gratitude, slave,” said the Mistress.

  Kirsten gave a hiss of effort as she pushed her reluctant body forward so she could slaver on the toes of the combat boots, relishing her subjugation as the woman stood aloof and proud over her pet.

  “It’s time for you to be sent on your first mission, slave. It’s a simple task - a foul mutant rebel criminal may be at large in the north of the city. She is a young adolescent girl and may have the ability to conceal herself from the sensors. But I am hoping her powers will not counter your senses. Quite simply you are to hunt her down and capture her,” stated the officer, almost as though she were conducting any ordinary mission briefing. It was a strange impartiality considering that a rubber-entombed slave was groveling at her feet, humbly lapping at her boots.

  “You will now accept the field additions to your uniform, slave,” stated the Mistress.

  Crouching upon the floor in a feral pose, Kirsten watched as the Mistress opened a closet with a touch and revealed a rough mannequin adorned with the opaque sections of armor that her first confrontation with a Hound had revealed.

  Removing a studded hood with an incorporated metal-banded collar from the mannequin she returned and turned it inside out to expose the interior. An elegantly carved device at the ear looked like a hearing aid
and fed a slender wire to twin ovals at the featureless zone where her larynx would be.

  “This will keep us in radio contact and allow me to monitor your actions. The collar holds a tracking device and a powerful explosive should you decide to try and disobey. Though I’m sure my faithful pet would not dare think of such things,” she said, fixing Kirsten with an intense stare, searching for any hint of rebellion in her prisoner’s countenance.

  The thought of escape was almost intangible to Kirsten as though she could no longer apply a meaning to this word. Had she been reprogrammed to such an extent where all notion of freedom had gone? But what did freedom offer other than the freedom to die of starvation, be shot by KGP, or end up worked to death in a Sanctuary camp?

  Satisfied with Kirsten’s expression the Mistress gathered up the hood and stretched the studded garment over her head, the material gripping her skull as the collar was locked shut. Instantly she felt her strength returning, the device that kept her mutant powers suppressed having been silenced.

  Kirsten could feel her limbs gathering might at a phenomenal rate, coursing with new and potent vitality as her mutant genes flexed their brawn.

  She had forgotten how glorious the feeling of strength was. Drunk on power she peered out through the acute eyeslits of her hood and studied her oppressor as she removed the elegant vambraces from the mannequin.

  Kirsten could have used her new might to slay her tormentor and escape, but instead of such notions all she could feel was adoration towards the woman who had trained her.

  Opening the metal shells the Mistress ensnared her forearms within the articles and snapped them shut, the devices clamping to her second skin and the studs, a series of small apertures within taking firm reign on these imbedded moorings.

  Her fingers were tipped with claws and her shoulders and shins were coated with the chitinous armor, the lightweight shell fitting perfectly and granting her an outlandish and most surreal visage.

  A short leash snapped to the collar and with a soft tug she was brought scuttling in the officer’s wake, her heart fluttering at the prospect of finally leaving this Stigean domain.

  The door to the lift accepted the Mistress’ card and slid aside, exposing the only means of exit from this realm.

  Instantly the heavy portal yawned open to permit egress and with the push of a button Kirsten’s stomach seemed to lower as she was being borne aloft.

  Squatting at the end of a leash, Kirsten kept the corners of her eyes to her owner, huddling to her side for protection and comfort as anxiety started to chew at her viscera. She was terribly nervous. Languishing in the secure bowels of this place had left her afraid of leaving them. It seemed that the sense of security from being kept away from the dangers of the world and protected under the luscious heel of her owner had become addictive.

  With a soft ping the doors opened and exposed more of the same dull corridors, causing Kirsten to question if they had moved at all.

  Kirsten flinched as a KGP soldier walked through an intersecting passage, the sight of someone else after all this time frightening her. She had not realized just how attached she had become to her prison.

  Now that she was freed of it, all she wanted was to return, causing her to ponder whether this homing instinct was an intended response or something she had developed individually.

  “Come on, slave,” decreed the woman, pulling at the leash to defeat Kirsten’s angst and bring her to heel.

  Drawn down the maze of corridors past offices and barracks, she regarded the others with a sense of dread, her intent to cling to her owner for shelter strong and difficult to resist.

  The intrigued stares of the military focused on her passing, her uncanny visage being responsible for the unsettling and intimidating attention. She was acutely unprepared for such publicity, her years prior to captivity having been ones of segregated isolation. The proximity of others was something she had innately convinced herself to fear. Now she was the center of dozens of interested, quizzical, or covertly licentious stares, the collective eyes leaving her riven with a phobic terror.

  Glass doors parted and opened onto a large rooftop, exposing the awaiting folds of night lying beyond.

  They were atop a tall building, staring out over the city. The air was cold and crisp, filled with a howling wind whose streaking gusts were corrupted and twisted into wild turbulence by the awaiting helicopter that churned the air with its blades.

  The navigational lights below the black craft pulsed and flickered in time to one another, bathing the underside of the opaque aircraft with their dull shades.

  Engineers and mechanics scuttled around the awaiting transport like ants, tending the great machine with safety checks and fuel as soldiers watched from the perimeter, cradling their OICW rifles and regarding the scene with an impassive detachment, each more concerned with their cold bodies than with security.

  Drawn onwards, Kirsten was ushered into the belly of the midnight craft where she found a small squad of six KGP already sitting upon the benches, faces grim, rifles clutched before them.

  The soldiers regarded her with a quizzing wonderment, not sure what she was. They knew she was a Hound, that much was certain, but the truth of her recruitment was lost on them.

  The Major dropped into the last remaining space and drew Kirsten close, having her pet huddle willingly at her boots like a faithful dog. From the shadows of her humble position she looked up and saw the occasional flick of a stare to her officer, the men jerking a gaze to the woman’s salacious figure. This unchecked concupiscence was infuriating and Kirsten tensed, her anger at their crass wants evoking her choler, making her brood on how they dared regard her owner with such base lusts.

  With a screeching cry the hatch was slid back into place and locked. A raised thumb from a retreating mechanic signaled that all was clear and the helicopter shuddered as the rotors built to full power.

  A wrench to Kirsten’s innards announced the sharp rise from the pad and the helicopter dipped forward as the building fell away. Leaning into the night the craft began a swift descent and then evened out, traveling through the upper reaches of the office blocks.

  Closing her eyes, Kirsten steadied her heart and listened to the repetitive lullaby of the engine. A gloved hand covertly reached down and took hold of her shoulder, steadying her nerves with a reassuring touch. In response she put her taloned fingers to the Major’s boots for comfort and tried to distract herself from the unnerving flight.

  A blaring alarm and a crimson bulb flashed into life, alerting the interior that they had reached their objective. The leash came away and the sense of motion eased as the helicopter began hovering. With a yank the hatch was hauled back, exposing the night in all its nebulous glory.

  Rooftops lay below, the distance to them an assured fatal fall to a human but to Kirsten it was a mere skip. A glance to her owner gained a brief nod and the leash came away to signal the command to proceed.

  Kirsten instantly charged forward and sprang from the aperture and into the darkness beyond. The air thundered around her in the moments of free fall, tugging at the sections of armor as the ground rose to greet her.

  With a penetrating crunch she dropped into a low skulking squat, the roof tiles fracturing under her graceful landing.

  Kirsten looked up as the helicopter closed its door and leaned aside, wandering off into the darkness, the steady chopping song of its rotors ebbing until it vanished completely.

  It was suddenly distressing to be removed from the proximity of her owner. Kirsten was completely dependent on herself now and this level of autonomy was troubling.

  The radio control and explosive collar, the discipline studs and her indoctrination eased her concerns, assuring her that although they were separated by distance, she was still utterly controlled and not immune from intense chastisement.

  Rising from the ragged craters her soles had punched, Kirsten turned her mind to the skin about her, lending her will to it and causing her form to
flicker and shift as the camouflage settled into full use.

  Regarding her arms she could only see the aura of her mutant blood, all trace of her having vanished from normal sight. It was just short of invisibility, the unsteady distortion that was all that remained being almost imperceptible amongst the shadows.

  With an amoral smile she drew in a deep draught of the air, sucking it through her hood and filling her lungs with the menagerie of smells. The processed air of the training facility was safe and calming whereas this was wild and chill, stained, and corrupt, leaving Kirsten tingling with a sense of power and potent anarchistic urges.

  Throwing up her arms she skipped forward and plunged into a cartwheel, carrying herself along the roof before back flipping over the chimney. Her toes grazed the hard panes beyond and broke into a mad dash, her elation at this exercise far beyond the mere state of rapture.

  Charging along the terraced houses she launched from one home to another, clearing roofs, bouncing from street to street, swinging from lampposts to clear the near barren roads and continue her elevated route.

  As she traveled she looked across the dark streets with a piercing gaze seeking the flickering aura of chaos that would reveal her quarry.

  Chapter Two

  Having slipped into a soft haze of semi-sleep, Maria was roused by the movement of her bonds, the ropes coming away and freeing her from captivity, her contorted limbs finally finding rest from their offensive poses.

  “Get up. It’s time for your bath,” he reported. “I’ve got someone coming over to meet you and I want you at your best.”

  The prospect of cleaning her body was a pleasing one, her exertions and pains having left her soaked in sweat and the oily layer made her quiver in repulsed fits. But she also knew that it would be no normal venture, that her kidnapper was sure to turn this simple act of cleansing into a lesson of duress. Also, the prospect of another abuser being added to her torment made her stomach curdle with apprehension. Would his cruelty be greater or less developed than her current tyrant? What dark penchants for torment did this enigmatic visitor have in store for her?