Trained to Obey 1 Read online

  Drawing back the door with deliberate lethargy she listened for any sounds of inhabitants and moved to the next one, finding a kitchen equipped with more food than she saw in a year.

  Instantly her mouth began to salivate profusely, her taste buds alive at the prospect of the delicacies on offer—cake, chocolate, fresh and exotic fruits, all the things she could not acquire save through brash theft during her rare excursions to the city.

  Opening the fridge she began to remove objects with gusto, shovelling items randomly into her maw, her eyes taking in a new attraction and grabbing it before her mind dared stop her.

  Bringing a packet of biscuits with her she moved closer to the window, keeping low and then clandestinely peering over the sill to examine the main street below. The Stalkers were still present in force and the dull signal of helicopters corrupted the breeze as others were called in to augment the hunt. It was clear that she was going to be here for some time and, turning to regard the fridge, she found such a temporary imprisonment a burden she could just about bear.

  Chapter Seven

  The ocean of light and sound cut off abruptly, leaving it to swirl within Kirsten’s mind at the same fervid pitch. The words slowly started to shrivel as she lay trapped in the unforgiving chair, still mounted on the stretching shaft and penetrated by the tubes, her face stamping with a heinous pulse from the stretching influence of the baleful anchoring balloons. Her breasts were swirling storms of potent anguish. The cords and clamps had driven all feeling from them save a soul-tearing throb.

  Kirsten watched through phased eyes as the door slid aside and revealed the officer who marched over to her without pause and examined her contusions. How long had she been in this hell? The vague daze of pseudo-sleep had done little to ease her tiredness and thus there was no clue as to the duration of this nightmare. She had been continually force-fed and her breath tainted with unknown chemicals to make her psyche more amiable to the indoctrination, so she might have been confined for days, maybe even weeks without knowing it.

  Releasing the pressure in the bladders, the officer smiled as Kirsten screeched onto the throat tube, the sudden powerful flash of havoc through the tortured flesh of her face bringing her to a thrashing fit.

  The mechanism that had lowered the tubes snatched them and hauled them from her body and back into the ceiling, her choking cough as they slithered free of her throat lasting for several minutes while she recovered from their long insertion. No sooner had she been reprieved from one punishment to her mouth than an old one was restored. The gag was forced in before she could stop it, the network of straps being swiftly tightened to a radical fit. The rubber sac began to swell under a series of rapid pumps from an inflator bulb that made it grow within her mouth, forcing her tongue down and stretching apart her jaws until the embrace of the straps would permit no more. It was far less grievous than the tubes, but the addition of it onto her bruised maw made it far worse than the first occasion she had endured this particular implement.

  The Major took hold of the clamps at her nipples and as Kirsten’s eyes widened in alarm she drew back, hauling at them, making their agonising bite rise even further until her croaking cry was freely slipping out from the gag.

  “Do you want these removed, slave? Or shall we leave them on a little longer?” she pondered, idly studying the long compressed teats.

  A pinch made the tools relinquish their grip and the moment of blissful respite was replaced by a sudden and unexpected re-entry of absolute anguish when sensation flooded back into the perpetually squeezed tissues and screamed at the damage it found there. As Kirsten was distracted by the fresh pain, the officer unwound her snared breasts, causing even more havoc to pour throughout the garrotted flesh. Wailing in her misery Kirsten shrieked and tried to endure this horrendous plateau as the woman began to unfasten the buckles that had for so long kept her immobile. As soon as her hands were free she clutched her poor assets, trying to comfort them as the keen ache continued to haunt them. The sheer duration of their punishment made the after-effects linger for a terribly overlong period, so much so that she feared real and lasting harm had been done to her.

  “Enough tears, slave, out!” barked the woman, taking up a short strap and applying vigorous blows across Kirsten’s body, deploying the weapon to guide her from the site of her torment.

  With a stifled wail she drove herself into full activity. Moving recklessly forward she let lose a screech as the anal rod yanked at her fleeing membranes, her long companionship with the intruder having let her forget about it, especially when there were far more pressing and noticeable influences upon her body. Dropping back and cavorting from the rending pain in her rear, Kirsten endured another blow and tried to lift herself up, to unsheathe her anus from the tall spire. A swipe to her front made her drop back down, thrusting the full length back into her just as she was about to get free. Tears filled her eyes as she cried out onto the gag from being refilled so acutely and again she fought to get off of the monstrous device. A swat of the tawse to her breast almost stole her energy and had her spear her rear again, but with a scowl of effort she managed to resist. Her aching sphincter finally closed and she threw herself from the chair to collapse onto the floor with a loud fainéant clap. Grovelling before the officer she jolted as the strap spoke harshly, making her crawl like an invertebrate for some means of shelter. Too weak to rise she was left powerless to prevent the beating, there being no option to simply waiting for this monstrous woman to desist.

  Barely conscious she fell from the pinnacles of misery that the strap and her ordeal had bestowed.

  “Wake up, slave. I have another lesson in store for you,” declared the officer. “Now get up onto your knees and follow me on all fours.”

  With a sudden turn the woman made for the door, watching as Kirsten hauled herself up and then made for the exit, her senses giddy, her limbs trembling as her sleep deprivation and pains conspired to make even the most simple movements a chore of the greatest magnitude and effort.

  Escorted back onto the corridor she trudged drearily in the Major’s path, pursuing slowly, the sway of her hanging breasts making the pattern of welts etched into her skin revive their former effulgence. Grimacing from the lasting effects of her containment she was drawn into the neighbouring chamber.

  This small cell bore little save an inverted trapeze hanging at waist height with rigid poles instead of ropes to keep it aloft. Dense rings of silver steel adorned floor, wall and ceiling, the solid metal hoops ready to accept restraints and ropes, the solid anchors obviously impervious to even the most psychotic struggles.

  With a groan of futility she surveyed the scene and was nudged within by a searing slap of the strap across her presented wiggling rear.

  “Get up before the bar,” demanded the woman, moving to the side and putting her palm to the wall. With a soft click and a dull whirr a panel of the wall moved aside to reveal layers of shelves, each covered in neatly arranged tools and implements of torture and punishment, the myriad devices striking terror into Kirsten’s heart.

  Crawling over to the bar she strained to keep her muscles active and lifted her hands up to clap them to the metal strut. Closing her fingers tightly upon the cold metal she inhaled deeply and with a laboured mutter started to haul herself up, her enfeebled limbs cooperating to help present her navel to the metal. Holding to it for support she watched in a pensive quiet as the officer began to prepare her for a new session.

  Pressed to the bar, her hands were draped forward and then girded by thick leather cuffs. The twin buckles on each shackle tightened to a snug fit and the paired D rings that lay between the small belts were locked together to prevent any hope of removal entering her mind. A long coil of black rope was taken up and slowly uncurled as the officer started at Kirsten, formulating new ideas.

  The end of the rope was knotted to a ring in the wall before Kirsten, the mooring set far to the left. The coil was stretched across and slipped through the large D ring sit
uated opposite the buckles on her right cuff and then passed through the left before the woman sauntered calmly back to the wall. The rest of the rope was drawn through another wall ring, this one set far on the right, creating two lines of rope that lanced from the wall and congregated on Kirsten’s wrists. With powerful hauls the officer began to steal away all the slack, elevating Kirsten’s crossed arms, stretching them towards the wall until she was on tiptoe and about to be pulled over the bar. A swift knot secured her in the position and the woman returned to continue conducting her bondage.

  The urge to resist was powerful within Kirsten as a matching pair of fetters were locked to her ankles. Another bundle of black rope emerged and one end was attached her left cuff before being drawn out to a ring set even further out from the one to her left. The rope was passed through and ducking the arm strands the officer walked along the wall to the counterpart on the extreme right. Strolling back, the Major threaded the last of the rope through Kirsten’s right fetter as she grizzled at the imminent pose she could see as being a horror to endure. She would have tried to rebel but her spirits were in shreds and she capitulated more on instinct than conscious design.

  The officer paused as she started to curl the last of the dark weave about her palm, taking a firm hold before stealing away the slack. Her eyes studied Kirsten as she waited for the imminent amerce, the slightest tremble in her body bringing a smile to the Major’s lips and initiating her in her sadistic toil.

  A ferocious retreating haul stole away the loose lengths and made the ropes snap taut. Kirsten’s legs were tugged into the air and held forward, making her body pivot acutely upon the bar as she was subjected to even more force. Another heavy pull made the ropes groan as they were stretched and Kirsten shriek as racking pains savaged her limbs. Her ligaments flashed with riots of heat, her joints burned from being brought to the verge of dislocation and her stomach felt as though it were ready to tear asunder as it was dragged mercilessly against the pole.

  Clawing wildly at her shackles she tried to find a means to free herself of this confinement, the vehement bondage being too much for her to endure in stoical silence. With eyes dripping with tears, her body exuding a glaze of tortured sweat as she hung rigid and stretched to an excruciating degree, Kirsten panted through her nose, fighting for breath.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so attractive,” flippantly commented the officer, walking to Kirsten and running her gloved hands along the tensed back of Kirsten, groping her as she hung helpless and in distress.

  The woman stepped around behind her and started to feel the clenched buttocks of her prisoner, assessing them with a methodical touch, tracing her fingers through the valley of her rear and across Kirsten’s sex. A gentle rub of her clit followed and the woman retreated back to focus more devotedly on the presented anus. With her legs splayed so wickedly Kirsten could do nothing to bar access, only hang and suffer and be explored by the military termagant.

  “Such a cute rear for a slave. But so virginal,” she uttered, inserting her forefinger in her mouth and rolling her tongue over the leather before exploiting the saliva as a makeshift lubricant. With a slow push she breached Kirsten’s quaking hole and slotted her digit in until it was to the knuckle, the flesh defiant to the end, the raw state the metal shaft had cultivated making the insertion most unpleasant for Kirsten.

  “I think you need to be loosened up, slave,” she commented, wiggling her finger in Kirsten and then withdrawing it, the glove dragging at her membranes, the saliva having allowed easier entry but vanishing to make departure less simple to endure.

  The officer ambled over to the shelf, savouring Kirsten’s suppressed cries as she removed an oversized dildo. The monstrous toy was vastly bloated in proportions but this alone was not the full measure of its evil, for the plastic shaft had been armed with a small arsenal of tiny rubber studs. As a final act of abhorrence it was set atop the head of what appeared to be some mode of modified cordless drill, the dildo spitting out like a huge bit.

  Closing her gloved hand upon the handle the officer clenched upon the button and smiled as the dildo turned at a steady speed. A tighter squeeze granted new alacrity and the spined toy whirled around at high speed, the studs a blur of daunting movement.

  “Ready for some fun, slave,” grinned the officer, and listened as Kirsten broadcast her incoherent chagrin, her fingers and toes wiggling frantically as she again fought her bonds.

  With the torturous pistol hanging in one hand she drew free a set of strange weighted clamps. Rather than a chain, the clover clamps dropped a string of thick elasticated cord that connected to a six-inch plastic cylinder.

  “You’ll find these amusing, slave,” stated the officer, dangling the loathsome creations before Kirsten’s eyes. The captive hands renewed their fight to get free as Kirsten stared agog at the dildo drill and the clamps, but she was totally vulnerable, unable to even move her limbs so tightly had she been extended.

  A pinch opened one of the silver springed instruments, its weight hanging beneath it on a cord. The pads of its jaws brushed her nipples, the spined rubber teasing them, making the flesh harden and rise despite all her mind’s howling demands for it to ignore the light touch.

  Presenting itself as a target, the morsel was snatched and the clamp released. Kirsten jerked as a jolt fired into the breast, the drag of the weight making the clamp bite harder as did the slight wriggle of her assailed torso, for the swinging of the cord only made the burden haul more effectively. Unable to learn from its mistakes her body accepted the goading caress and lifted the other nipple for a similar compression, the twin points upon her cleavage easily eclipsing the strain of her confinement.

  The initial power of the piercing bite slowly began to withdraw and settled into a deep reverberating ache that echoed through her flesh, the subterranean pounding a subtle and ferocious enemy to bear.

  With a malicious grin the officer turned on a switch at the base of the two sealed tubes and lifted them up. When she let go the weights dropped and the elastic stretched, the drag making the clamps chew at her more viciously. But then she heard mechanised motion from within the weights and realised to her dismay what they were. The same motor that created the silly toys that appeared as birds or butterflies bounding endlessly on the end of their string had been installed in the cylinders. Stripped of all superfluous decoration the devices bounced their internal weight, conjuring a bouncing rhythm, the two constructions leaping up and down, stretching almost to the floor before hurtling up and then falling down again, causing the clamps to yank at her with metronome precision. Squealing against her gag, each plummet stretched so terribly at her breasts that she feared her nipples would be pulled off, the long instalment of the previous clamps making the flesh even more sensitive to this mistreatment.

  The screaming roar of the drill snatched Kirsten’s attention, drawing up her eyes to regard the officer as the woman brought the tool to life with brisk whirling fits.

  Still thumbing the device into brief speed she wandered idly around Kirsten’s form, removing a steel hilt from the shelf—a rod with a dozen slithering tongues of heavy latex cascading from its tip. With a shuffling shake the strips disentangled themselves from their brethren, gaining their own room before being slowly dragged across the naked plains of Kirsten’s spine. The feel of these cool strands sliding over her made Kirsten shiver for their fond stroking would assuredly become less friendly. The strips fell between her buttocks and swayed in the air before being ripped upward in an overhead attack.

  With a faint susurration upon the air the twelve straps dropped onto her with meteoric force, the family of latex tendrils clapping to her skin and applying their hateful sensations in full. Kirsten flew into paroxysms as the whip filled vast areas of her back and rear with an indiscriminate assault, the savagery of the officer’s trenchant strikes imparting her skin with bilious fire, as though she were being spanked by a giant hand.

  In the lull between blows she
felt something touch her rear and during the moment where she was too stunned to notice the object moved onward unopposed. As Kirsten suddenly realised that it was the dildo and not the whip, the toy drew open her orifice with a rending violence and plunged into her, the studs rattling across her sphincter, tearing at the soft tissues as the entire length was sheathed within. Kirsten’s howl flew from the gag, the sudden barging entry of the massive implement rocking her abdomen with agony, her rear unable to accommodate such a trespasser as it casually shoved her opening to the limits of its elasticity.

  The shrieking banshees of fury that stormed through her rear had her in a spasmodic fit of horror, willing to do anything to get this infernal instrument out of her. The shame of the violation was insignificant compared to the pain of this massive intruder and her mind could entertain nothing else save the primal need to escape the havoc.

  With a gruff relish the officer began to ride the toy back and forth, the studs dragging at her tracts, escalating her woe immeasurably as she was hideously penetrated.

  A touch to the button and the toy whirled, throwing Kirsten’s cry into a new and piercing pitch, her shriek ending as she emptied her lungs and was left unable to draw breath, her body demanding only screams, leaving her fixed in a frozen howl as the spinning toy ripped at her. The whirling passage filled her tissues with heat and fractured her sanity from the nightmare atrocity, the whip almost unnoticed as the officer absently applied arbitrary slaps across her rosy back.