Trained to Obey 2 Read online

  The woman watched Maria with delight as she wriggled upon her trespasser, tugging at the metal cuffs, making them chime against the handrail as she jogged.

  The sight of Maria’s bobbing cleavage began to mesmerize Jessica, inspiring her to embellishing the dancing breasts with some new additions. A brief trip to the wall opened a hidden store filled with such contraptions and after selecting a set that suited her mood she returned to the jogging slave.

  Locking a stern fist to each breast she squeezed the nipple out as the staggering runner grimaced and then she clipped a ferocious clamp to the end, crushing the mamilla within a set of padded jaws.

  The silvery clamps released two small chains that bore delicate bells at the end. Every bounding step brought soft chimes and also caused the weight of the contrivances to haul at the tip of her breasts, the burden of the clamps increasing her ordeal.

  “Such a sweet sound,” mused the officer, tilting her head back as she listened to Maria grunt and moan, panting to the accompaniment of chaotic peals of high-pitched chimes.

  The effort of keeping up left Maria fixed on maintaining her speed, the prospect of lagging growing in her mind for she knew she would not have the stamina to last on this course for long and the spines were waiting just a foot away. If she truly fell or even staggered it would entail the most terrible maiming of her anus and the threat of such trauma forced her into endless effort.

  “I’ll return to you later and see how you’re faring. But first, let me just activate the lowest area of the shaft for you. You see, the last of the spines will be charged with voltage should you descend to that point, slave, so make sure you stay away from them unless you want that pert anus roasted,” gloated the officer as she lurked in the doorway.

  “Pleeease, Mistress! I’ll be good! I’ll do what you say! Just don’t leave me like this, I can’t do it! I’m not strong enough,” protested Maria, the sudden change from the woman’s tenderness to such brutality alarming her and breaking the prurient mood.

  “Oh dear, such disobedience. Well, you have just doubled your sentence here, slave. Think on that as you suffer. Anything else to say before you begin?”

  Maria scowled and kept her words to herself, unwilling to bring even more pain on herself through her lack of will.

  “Good.”

  The officer flicked a switch beside the exit, bringing a soft hum from the rod as a faint static charge tickled Maria’s trembling cheeks as the metal furthest from her opening was electrified in readiness for her inevitable descent.

  “As I am training your body, so I shall train your mind in my absence, slave. It appears as though you need it,” she announced, and stepped from the room with rampant glee.

  The door slid shut and the light was replaced by the maelstrom battery of sound and color that was the program of indoctrination, the words ripping into her thoughts as she trotted upon the looped band, fighting to keep herself from the ravages of the lower reaches.

  As she began to lag, she slid down onto the rod, the studs giving way to the dull spines that forced their way in, scratching at her sphincter and making her fight all the more strenuously to keep up. Her leg muscles felt as though they were aflame, the heat of there strained use making it difficult to keep herself upright. Her steps were shaky, her speed haphazard as she increased her sprint and hauled away from the approaching lacerating teeth.

  Giddy from effort, her lungs stabbing with an arctic chill. Maria pounded upon the belt, her descending rate allowing her body to slither back down as she frantically played with the cuffs, her thoughts clawing at the interior, trying to open them.

  Despite her best efforts to get free she continued to fall back, the agony of the dull barbs unable to galvanize her into sterner effort. Then she hit the electrified zone. With a shriek her abdomen bucked and she bolted forward, the flight across the blunt spines inflicting further horror. Her feet stumbled and slipped, dropping her lower as her toes scraped and twitched upon the belt, dragging behind her as she was held aloft by the impaling rod. Wailing, she dangled and tried to regain her feet, gurgling and tugging at her bonds, the pain of being held up by her rear more than she could stand.

  Throwing her thoughts to the buckles about her body she flipped them open, her mind stirred to intense power and finally capable of this impossible feat.

  Freed of the buckles she hauled forward and slipped free of the pole, her torso slamming to the belt and being carried back until she was stopped and dragged by her bound wrists, her powers unable to defeat the locking mechanisms.

  Exhausted, she simply let herself remain loose, the heat of the sliding belt afflicting her flesh as her rear throbbed and she swam in apathetic torpor.

  The clamps still dangled from her breasts, the bells finally silent, the tips coursing with a deep savage ache from their crushing company. Maria’s concern about the retribution her escape would incur grew insidiously in her thoughts, the prospect of what punishment she had incited causing her to wonder if perhaps she should have merely endured the treadmill. The penalty was bound to be infinitely worse, but maybe she deserved it, maybe she needed it to teach her a lesson in how to serve the officer.

  Chapter Eleven

  The scenic majesty of the country continued to roll past as the first rays of the sun began to tickle the horizon, painting the darkness with a deep blue that erased every star within its reach.

  Rubbing his eyes, Sergeant Olson leant back into his passenger seat and checked to make sure Louie wasn’t falling asleep at the wheel.

  The convoy had been driving all night from the north, carrying supplies and new Knights from the training grounds of Scotland to their first assignments.

  The fresh troops had missed most of the action, the mutant problem now being well under control. Together, the nation had taught the surly freaks who was in command. What would happen now was anyone’s guess.

  Other countries had been bleating about the inhumane treatment of mutants and had screamed genocide since the whole thing started. Perhaps the rumors were true, that mutants in other countries had infiltrated the high places of power and political office and were levying hatred towards Britain, seeking to stop the crusade from spreading so as to protect themselves and their cancerous threat.

  Trade sanctions had been established a few months ago. The United Nations were grumbling with ever-louder voices for all that good that it had done and America was all but severing ties. Ironically the only real support was coming from the Middle East, the religious powers there finding mutation a cardinal offense against their faiths that they too were not willing to endure in their people.

  Britain was more prosperous now than it had ever been and the actions of the foreign powers had only rallied the country together all the more fanatically. For the first time in generations England, Scotland, and Ireland stood united, all internal squabble forgotten in the face of the greater danger.

  Kessler would show them what to do. She had steered them through the mutant threat and she would carry them through this external hazard. If war was the only solution, Olson would gladly give his life to preserve humanity from the tumor within its midst. If it meant he had to storm abroad and fight the mutant-controlled governments on their own territory, he was ready and eager to undertake this task. Like many others he felt that Britannia had slept long enough, endured too much, allowed others to grow rich from their loses. It was time to stop patriotism being a joke or a dirty word or slur. It was time to make England great again.

  With such storm clouds riding up on the horizon of their future, perhaps these young recruits would find action after all.

  A faint cough of smoke breached the side of the jeep that led the convoy and suddenly the small vehicle was engulfed in a broiling fireball. The intensity of the flash ripped apart the night and blinded Olson and Louie. The windshield shattered a moment later as the blast wave hit, pelting them with tiny fragments of glass. Their eyes had fortunately clenched shut from the effects of the light pulse, de
nying the shards the possibility of shredding their sight.

  The rumbling blare of the explosion slammed into their ears, echoing through their minds and vibrating their very bones as the outrush of roasted air punched their frames with an invisible hammer. The wind was driven from their lungs to momentarily cripple them with concussive shock.

  Kicking instinctively into the brakes, Louie spun the wheel, veering aside with a sudden wrench. Clipping the pyre of light and twisted metal that was the jeep, the burning vehicle span on the spot, grating against the side of the truck as it passed by. With the tires smoking and painting long black streaks in the road the truck finally ground to halt, leaving the two men to recover from the onslaught.

  Another grenade was launched and hissed through the air to strike the troop truck behind them. A small hole was punched in the canvas walls of the back, the fabric rippling before billowing outward as light poured through the seams. The swelling detonation tore through the materials, incinerating them as the bodies compacted inside were crudely dismantled by the explosion, the suddenness of their murder denying them opportunity to even scream.

  The rear of the truck vanished within a curling fireball of incandescent fire and smoke, the bloom shedding its interior glow and rising up as a rolling plume of inky smog. Chunks of scorched debris arced high through the air, trailing lines of wispy smoke to mark their passage before rattling upon the ground. After a moment’s hesitation the fuel tanks decided to mimic the violence and disintegrated the rest of the truck amidst belching incendiary columns, the chassis shattering outward in all directions to leave a jagged and blackened husk at the heart of a raging inferno.

  The trailing jeep jerked aside, the mounted machine-gun chattering and spewing random blizzards of bullets into the darkness as the driver kept low and valiantly sought to reach the lead truck.

  Looking across, Olson saw that Louie was virtually unconscious, his body slouched against the door, his breath coming in coughing fits.

  Snatching the radio, Olson held it and scrambled for his rifle, his hand laced with tiny cuts.

  “This is Fox-trot Charlie Tango, we’ve been ambushed en route roughly twelve miles from objective. Reinforcements urgently required,” he yelled, straining out the words before letting go and using his enfeebled strength to cock the assault rifle.

  The crack of a shotgun whispered within the sounds of cavorting flames and suddenly the machine gun fell silent, the operator swatted from the jeep by a cluster of holes in his chest. The flak jacket had successfully absorbed the pernicious pellets but their impetus was sufficient to throw him from his perch and dash his stunned body harshly upon the road. A loud crunch signaled his awkward landing and after bouncing to a halt he remained still.

  With the squeal of brakes the vehicle stopped and the driver scrambled over his seat to access the deserted heavy weapon. A huge form charged suddenly from the undergrowth, his massive body hinted at by the soft light of the blazes, bathing him in outlines of amber. With a casual tug he snatched the side of the jeep and flipped it as though it were a toy. The entire chassis turned over in the air and landed with a screeching crash onto its back, crushing the driver as he sought to replace his lost partner.

  Realizing that this was mutant terrorism, Olson scowled and fumbled for the door handle with new energy. As awareness dawned that there was no window to block his field of fire he lifted the rifle and shakily tried to draw aim on the exposed guerrilla.

  Two powerful hands snatched the door and ripped it from its hinges before casting it aside with a rage-inspired thrust. An entirely different pair snatched the rifle and jerked his aim up as more fingers clamped to his throat. The OICW strobe lit the interior with muzzle flashes as it peppered the roof with holes, the flickering light revealing that all these many arms were stemming from one source. Knuckles smashed into his face, a flare of pain giving way to dazed haziness that ended with a searing spear of fire as a knife was thrust into his chest, bisecting his heart and then churning it with a savage twist.

  The weapon was tugged free, letting him slide down, all motion fleeing with the rhythmic pulses of blood pumping from his mortal wound. Twitching, his chest full of physical mayhem, he watched through flitting vision as his rifle was turned around and leveled at Louie and himself. The air suddenly filled with thundering blasts and multiple stabs poured across his frame, casting him into cold oblivion, his last vision being the rancor-contorted visage of his murderer.

  Chapter Twelve

  She could leave her prized Hound in isolation and agony for a couple of days to further disorientate and confuse the helpless woman.

  Starvation and her ordeal would allow the teaching program to shatter her resolve and further reinforce the lofty walls of her reeducation, making her gloriously pliable to the depraved lusts Jessica so hungered to indulge.

  The hesitation her favorite pet had displayed when faced with the capture of the new subject had indicated that a faint sliver of will still remained. But such a spark was easily snuffed out.

  Denying her access to the field for a short time would probably suffice. The thought did not trouble Jessica, for she preferred to remain here inflicting agonies on her pets rather than traipsing through the cities and wilderness looking for rogue mutants. In the meantime she could continue the treatment for her latest acquisition.

  The door slithered back as she approached and entered the chamber where the new hound was undergoing an enforced lesson, for despite her rigorous training the slave had used her telekinetic abilities to escape the savagery of her last session.

  The locks on the handcuffs responsible for keeping her to the rail were of course immune to such tampering and the loss of the buckles at her hindquarters had only served to enlighten Jessica as to her slave’s lingering aptitude for treasonous defiance.

  The punishment meted out for her escape certainly fitted the nature of the crime and had been orchestrated to help refine and enhance the latent power to be of more use in the field.

  The girl was spread-eagled face down at a height of one meter between four tall posts, her wrists and ankles stretching her out and suspending her. Potent clamps snagged her nipples and each dragged at the bullied breast with a leaden weight. A second pole arose between her parted thighs and two coiled springs upon it aimed into her abdomen. Atop each of these springs dwelt a sizable phallus, the vibrating length dotted with vindictive studs. Glistening beads of toil-exerted sweat dripped from the girl’s straining features as she tried to fight the multiple attacks, channeling her mind force against a source of pain, only to divert it from holding off another.

  Her options were limited to only one such alleviation of her suffering, her power insufficient at present to split into multiple psychokinetic streams. Basically, she could either provide a lift to the clamps or her stretched demeaned body, or she could fend off one of the violating, buzzing dildos. Whenever her powers were turned from the toys, the springs shoved the infernal devices into her anus and sex, pushing harshly, the trembling studs kindling internal mayhem until she pushed them back through force of will.

  She had been like this for eight hours now, alone, suffering, contemplating her crime and teaching herself to bolster her powers through the earnest tuition wrought by crisis.

  Jessica strode before the grimacing face and knelt down. Taking hold of the girl’s chin she lifted her features up and brushed aside the short strands of sweat-dampened hair. The slave did not compound her error by speaking without permission. She had suffered enough for disobedience and refused to incite yet more.

  “You now know that I am aware of every transgression you make, slave. Disobey and this is your reward,” she purred, gaining a wonderful glow of satisfaction from the imploring gaze of the tormented female. “Now, what do you say?”

  The slave suddenly winced and swallowed her cry, the distraction of being offered release having caused her hold to lapse. The twin phalluses dove forth, forcing open the targeted orifices and plunging deep into h
er, the studs dragging at her already raw membranes, the metal tips pushing against the limits of what her insides could contain as their loud mechanized hum was subdued by her muffling tracts.

  “Thank you, Mistress. I’ll not disobey again, I promise,” she burbled after a shocked gasp, her mouth dry, her torso spasming against the intruders as she began to push them back out, fighting against the force of the springs with mind and weary body.

  “Good slave,” Jessica acknowledged and removed the clamps from the slave’s breasts.

  The girl wailed as feeling shot back into the whitened morsels, her cry metamorphosing into a strained gurgle as the dildos were set free of her mind force to charge back into her chafed insides. No sooner had they entered than she indistinctly and rashly applied her telekinetic influence back to them, shoving them back out and plaguing the openings once more. Cursing her own actions, her belly and rear throbbing, she strained and kept her holds in place, keeping the toys back, their rounded heads nudging her openings, eager to launch back into her the moment she let her will falter.

  Jessica smiled and regarded the quivering breasts. How she enjoyed compressing and binding this slave’s most admirable assets. They were the perfect size for abusing, enough for Jessica to take in one hand and caress with the sole intention to hurt. Maria was attractive enough but she didn’t have the same alluring quality of her other slave.

  The dangling breasts were too tempting to resist, especially with the arousing picture of the slave’s plight. Taking hold of one in each hand she massaged them with brutality, making the slave whimper at the coarse treatment. It increased the level of distraction and the expelled dildoes began to move in, her hold failing after having ejected the devices subsequent to another sudden lapse.

  Upon seeing the movement, Jessica gripped the already abused mamilla and began to twist them, employing more and more force as the devices closed in, pushing against her openings and then slowly parting them.