Trained to Obey 1 Page 7

  “Good slave,” she repeated, running her gloved hand down Kirsten’s tear-glazed cheek and then presenting the tip of the crop to Kirsten’s lips. “Kiss.”

  After a brief glance to the simple leather hoop atop a woven stem that had caused her such unbelievable duress, Kirsten fixed her eyes to the rubber contours of the woman and pressed her lips to the weapon in homage and gratitude.

  However, despite the removal of the gag she was not to remain untroubled for long and as the woman moved away without reply a mere touch to the wall caused a dull clunk to issue from above her. Glancing up with concern she saw a trio of slender tubes lowering from a hatch in the ceiling like malevolent tentacles.

  While Kirsten peered at them quizzically, wondering what was next in her trials the officer took the first and largest one and clapped her gloved fingers to Kirsten’s cheeks.

  “Open wide, slave,” she ordered firmly, squeezing tightly and forcing open her captive’s maw, digging in her leather-clad digits.

  Kirsten fought to resist but she was just too weak and lacking any opposition the fat rod was being threaded down her gullet and into her stomach without delay. Gurgling and retching as nausea took control of her spasming innards she tried to eject the intruder only to have a valve at her teeth turned. Instantly concealed balloons upon the area of rod in her mouth started to billow out, swelling and stretching apart her jaws, leaning their pressurised might against her cheeks, causing them to stretch painfully outward. Snorting and burbling in pain her mouth was brought to the point of eruption and the valve turned back. The massive presence in her mouth filled every portion of it with agony but there was no way for her to spit it out, it was just too vast to escape even her vastly unnatural rictus. Imprisoned in a stretched silent howl of anguish, wheezing softly through her nostrils, Kirsten stared dejectedly at her owner.

  The remaining pair of thin pipes were taken to her nostrils and threaded in, the slender lines snaking down into her throat and then accessing her lungs to force-feed her an acrid gaseous mix that made her immediately feel light-headed. The tubes bore fixtures identical to the stomach tube and as each valve was turned her nostrils were brought to terrible strained pressure by a bloated latex bladder, the collection of distending balloons preventing her quaking tracts from spitting out any of the trio.

  Breached by these lifelines she felt an influx into her stomach as she was made to ingest an unknown concoction. The sense of control was almost tangible, the officer now regulating her insides, taking reign even over what she breathed and ingested.

  “I shall now leave you to let you rest and learn, slave, because I’ll be assaulting your psyche even in your dreams and when you are recovered my return will see you wailing once more,” she attested and gave a last testing pull to the clamps.

  Kirsten tensed and gasped, grunting as the woman turned them slightly, making her squirm in her bonds. When the officer finally released them, the effects subsided back to their usual dull ache and Kirsten watched as the door opened for the Major and let her leave.

  The metal sheet closed in her passing and the overhead light flickered out, plunging Kirsten into absolute darkness.

  What had the officer meant with her final words? The scourging of her body had virtually driven her mad, the pain being more than she thought a human body was capable of withstanding. Yet she had remained aware throughout the whole thing and the mere memory of it made her shudder and fear for her reason. Despite her hunger for such abuse how long would it be before it simply cracked her sanity?

  Swallowing was difficult, every attempt making the pipes grate and chafe, the sheathed pipes revealing their presence even more distinctly with every motion she made. Kirsten spluttered upon them, trying to get them out, the hideous feeling of their intrusion making her seek only to eject them, and yet to lose this fight made her more pleased of their companionship, to know that she was helpless against them. If she could have she would have hauled them out, but while they were immobile she felt desolate to their influence.

  The inky blackness was suddenly hurled back as brilliant bursts of light exploded from every direction. Rolling multi-hued beams cast spotlight lances across her body. Strobe lights fired into her eyes, forcing her to close them and shield herself from the brilliant glare of their sporadic discharge. The chaotic whirlwind of light poured through her eyelids virtually unchecked, making her squeak and fight to seek refuge from the horrendous glare. Concealed speakers sparked into life, their volume making her cry out from the din of their savagery.

  The Major’s voice filled the chamber almost like a physical presence, drilling into her skull, the words demanding her compliance, telling her that she was a freak, a beast to be used and abused by superior beings, that she was a slave, property, to be reconfigured to suit her owners purpose. Suddenly there was a subtle change in the repeating cycle of indoctrination, a portion of the litany that told her to worship and adore her Mistress. This section was a little less perfect of quality as though the majority had been professionally produced to make her obedient, while the Mistress had tacked on her own addition in secret. It was a charming notion that perhaps her owner was not as repulsed by Kirsten as she professed. Perhaps there was a fondness there, not one that would temper her sadistic deeds, but an affection that would ease Kirsten’s resentment of her rule.

  The sonic tuition continued to repeat and was deafening, eclipsing even her own thoughts, the audio battery all the more effective because of the distracting straits of her confinement.

  The session continued to plague her, never pausing in its task, stopping her from sleeping, the deprivation starting to forge a twisted somnolent haze where she was lost amongst the words and the lights, her thoughts resounding with the commands and prejudiced dogma. The voice that beseeched her slavery listened to the raucous lullaby and grew stronger, drowning out the others that had her reviling it and spreading itself more distinctly throughout her fazed psyche.

  Chapter Five

  Major Jessica laid herself out on her double bed in the quarters she had made at the training facility. The room was plain and held only what she needed—a wardrobe of copious attire, a dressing table, her bed, beside table, and an attached bathroom. The only real indulgence was the large wall-spanning mirror by the door, the frame rimmed with lights so that she could assess in full every portion of herself before attending her slaves. Intending to present a perfect image was necessary to her, a concept that her superiors had not understood. But her successes gave her considerable leeway. No other trainers had ever gained the results she had, and while others now sought to mimic her techniques in other parts of the country she could allow herself to indulge her vices in full under the guise of professionalism.

  Leaning over to the bedside table she took out her personal stereo, slipped in a tape and slotted the earpieces in before laying back. Pressing play, her hands wandered across her body, tracing the satin bra and thong that were her only garments.

  The sounds of Kirsten responding to the scourge echoed in her mind and Jessica gently caressed the front of her underwear, feeling it grow damp as she panted and enjoyed the sounds of her slave’s suffering. Kirsten was more alluring than any other slave she had owned, and she was having grave problems maintaining her hateful façade. The first session between them had been conducted without the knowledge of the KGP, a reconnaissance to ensure she was correct in her assessment. She wanted to test Kirsten before she revealed the location of mutant and volunteered to be the bait to capture her.

  The song that Kirsten had sung upon her initiation continued to flow, bringing Jessica closer to orgasm as she writhed upon the sheets and pictured the image of that pale sultry body cavorting under the lash.

  When KGP programmers had been alerted to Kirsten because of her complete use of net services, a devotion that suggested someone in hiding, she had followed up in detail to research the habits of the mutant. Unearthing her lesbian streak, her covert submissiveness, and her new desire to indulge ha
d warranted more investigation. Jessica had the programmers set the trap, concocting the right profile and inserting it before waiting for the reply.

  The first meeting was done outside of KGP channels, allowing Jessica to explore the nubile woman, assess her and pleasure her without the eyes and ears of her compeers. Satisfied, she had arranged the capture.

  Listening to the audiotape of mewls and struggles Jessica wished she had more time to gradually break Kirsten in. But she had lost her hound—she needed a replacement soon. So she needed to programme Kirsten quickly with swift and sure methods rather than the slow build up to submission she would have preferred to inflict and savour. It was hard, harder than ever before to maintain her impassive heartless façade. Kirsten was a temptation Jessica was finding increasingly difficult to resist.

  Jolting and swallowing an ecstatic cry, Jessica bounced upon her bed, clawing at the sheets as she imagined what she could next do to the helpless gorgeous flesh of her captive.

  Chapter Six

  The city seemed so foreign to Maria now, almost like a distant and half-forgotten memory. On the surface it seemed as she remembered but the stain of the new rule was everywhere.

  The posters and wall scrawls, the badges and armbands upon the population, the T-shirts and adverts pledging allegiance to the Human Rights goons and the KGP while others denounced mutants or bore slogan propaganda. Shops still bore their ‘no mutants’ signs even though the new laws condemning them to incarceration had long since been passed.

  It was frightening to be walking through a populated area where so many denizens would turn on her like starved wolves should she be exposed. Although she tried to steady her thumping heart with the confidence that her mind was scrambling any sensor that might be seeking to ferret out her true identity, she was still greatly in fear for her life.

  Stopping before a shop window she regarded her appearance. It had changed so much since last she had bothered to examine herself for the sake of vanity. At thirteen she had been dragged from her parents and taken to a Sanctuary camp where she was treated no differently to the other mutants, the guards seeing her not as a child, or a girl, but as a foul abomination to be worked ruthlessly until she dropped. Only her fellows cared for her, making concessions even though it cost them dearly. Adopted by a small group, she had remained with them when a band of freedom fighters breached the perimeter fence one night and permitted a mass breakout. Taking refuge in the woods many of the escapees were caught or killed but her new comrades were wise and adept and had a broad range of powers and skills to ensure survival.

  Her eighteenth birthday had come and gone almost unnoticed, the rigours of existence making such paltry celebrations a foolish notion. The slight chubbiness she had grown up with was gone, replaced by a wiry, thin appearance that drew in her cheeks and made her appear sorrowful and fragile. The muscles she had gathered for necessity were hidden and strong, her feeble appearance deceptive and often used to her advantage. Her long deep brown hair had been cropped short so it would not hinder her, the once silken folds dulled and tangled from lack of attention. Her hazel eyes had lost their old sparkle, the straits of her last years replacing them with a deep, distant stare.

  As the youngest of the group, she was the only choice to enter the city. The others would have gladly replaced her but only she had the ability to fend off the probing tendrils of the Stalker sensor devices. Here she could gather food and much needed supplies, stockpiling a little at a time before ferrying it out to her friends, the risk of discovery being negligible against such vital rewards.

  Entering a chemist shop she bought antiseptic, bandages, and other medicinal commodities they could not find alternatives for in the wilds. Constantly looking over her shoulder, disarmed and disturbed by the crowds about her and the noise filling her ears, she paid for her purchases and left swiftly, feeling a pang of claustrophobia in the store, her long years of forest dwelling leaving her ill prepared for enclosed areas.

  The street was just as bad. The sudden press of bodies closed about her, the walls of flesh jostled and bumped, drawing parallels back to the dense pack of prisoners in the camp. The reality of the street was very different to the camp, but the mere instance of such confinement made her mind call up the fright and dismal despair. Sudden nausea started to creep through her, her skin becoming clammy, her breath quickening, her hand moving into her jacket and closing about the reassuring butt of her pistol. Moving with force and then roughly barging when people still refused to part she forced a path to an alleyway and plunged in.

  “Something wrong sweet thing,” slurred a deep rumbling voice.

  Turning, Maria’s eyes widened in terror as she came face to face with an idle pack of Stalkers. The team of six armed bigots were keeping out of the crowd, cigarettes screwed to their lips, the bulky pack of a sensor virtually ignored and laid upon the ground, clearly giving its courier a much needed rest from its burden.

  “Nothing,” she burbled, her every instinct screaming for her to run, her reactions honed to taking immediate flight any time she saw the uniform of these butchers.

  “I have to be going,” she stammered and turned to swiftly thread a route back out.

  A hand snagged her arm and prevented her departure, almost prompting her to drawing her gun and opening fire. But they were many and any use of a firearm would swamp the area with KGP and police. It would be far wiser to save it as a last resort.

  “What’s the rush? Why not stay and keep us company for a moment, eh?” He aired licentiously.

  “I…I…” she began, her mind in turmoil, unable to think of how to get herself out of this situation. To be so close to the enemy, she couldn’t concentrate properly.

  The sensor suddenly released a peel of rapid pips, several sections lighting up and snatching the attention of everyone present. Maria’s heart skipped a beat and her jaw dropped open. Her panic had caused her cloaking field to falter and as they harried her she had unwittingly opened her biology to the organic sensor that now shrieked the trespass of a mutant.

  The soldiers snapped their unoccupied grips to their rifles and sidearms, looking over Maria’s head for trace of the offender, their dull minds seeking an obvious culprit and unable to entertain the immediate notion that it was she. As the operator grabbed the hand unit to localise the reading Maria turned and backed off as their attentions were diverted. As soon as she turned the corner she hugged the walls and ran for her life.

  “Dammit, it was the girl!” roared a voice.

  “After her! And call in for assistance,” came the man’s response, bringing his group to action as they slammed their way into the stream of startled citizens, knocking them to the floor as the soldiers yelled for them to part and gain a clear shot at the fleeing girl. The dull thumping sound of metal on flesh beat an uneven tune as the frustrated Stalkers started to deploy their batons to hack a path.

  Weaving wildly, her slender frame darting through the maze of dour pedestrians, Maria charged onwards, fortifying her mind and establishing her power to blind the sensor fields.

  Already she could see other Stalker squads moving in onto the street, rushing to the scene, anxious for a hunt and capture after so long spent idle and with no mutants to chase.

  Turning into another alley she sprinted with a frenzied dash until she neared the other end, then slowed to a walk, checked her breath and tried to look calm and innocuous as she re-entered the crowds.

  It appeared as though she was going to make it through the next few streets without incident until she saw the team she had initially encountered running onto her area, intently panning their gaze across the crowd of mundanes, seeking her visage. Mundane was the ideal phrase to apply to the normal folk, a derogatory sneer by which mutants showed their contempt for those who would destroy them.

  Cursing her luck she looked rapidly about for a corner in which to hide, realising just how exposed these streets were and how little cover there was. Turning her features down she hid her face and
walked around behind a set of corner shops, glancing over the metal stairwells and balconies for a place to hide. Spotting an ajar window on a second floor she looked over the site and covertly followed a discreet path into the backyard of the adjacent shop, using the wooden fence wreathing it to hide her approach to the decrepit wall of the building. Flipping over the fence and landing amidst discarded boxes she stared up across the peeling paint and rust-flecked drainpipes and cables. Deeming the makeshift ladders capable of supporting her lithe frame she made a final check to ensure no one was staring at her exact position. After taking firm hold and a deep breath she started the ascent, keeping her mind locked to throwing off any prying sensors. The last she had known, portable sensors were limited, but that had been so long ago that there may well have been developments that made them much more far reaching.

  With a scowl of effort she fought for speed and reached the window in seconds. Clamping her palms to the windowsill she held tight and hauled herself in, slithering through the gap and then crumpling into a pile on the other side.

  Gasping for breath she quickly appraised her location. It was a living room, fortunately uninhabited at this moment. The owner of the shop below was in all probability the occupant so she was safe until closing time. The Stalkers would be scouring the area, seeking her on the streets and they would doggedly continue until they got bored. There were so few mutants left abroad that they had little else to occupy their attention, and a hunt gave them the excuse to push people around and bolster their egos with their authority.

  Careful not to make any noises that might alert those below her Maria regained her feet and crept slowly forward, wandering the flat and looking over what appeared as luxury to her eyes. Once, she had known such splendour, but now she could barely recall it. The sheer magnitude of her struggle in the last years and the stark clarity of the memories, both had served to fade and dull all that had lain before them, making them seem almost unreal. Her parents had tried to hide her from the KGP, not from any pious love for her, more to avoid embarrassment for they too had succumbed to the anti-mutant wave and were staunch supporters. The sorrow displayed when she was taken away was probably more shame at being exposed at having spawned a monster rather than grieving for the loss of their daughter. They were probably happier without her, and she most certainly was well rid of them. Her companions had been a better family than they ever could have been. Her band would lay down their lives for each other, support and care for each other against all odds no matter what the danger. It was a sense of camaraderie in adversity that went well beyond the boundaries of kinship.