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Under Evaluation 8
Lila Powell’s “cell mate” had settled down somewhat, having repaired the damage to its web. To the restrained brunette, the spider still seemed more than a little pissed off. It had hunkered down in the center of the web, inches from Lila’s face and appeared to be staring back at the girl, debating whether or not to bite her on the nose. Lila did her best, given her strenuous pose, not to exhale too hard into her neighbor’s web.
This was a task all but impossible to achieve. With limbs contorted and bound in inconceivable positions, her privates bearing all her weight, each breath was a labored, painful task. Although the terror of being “host” to the spider had subsided, its presence still added to her uneasiness. There was no solace in the distraction it had caused whilst dancing about in front of her face. Nearby or not, each second passed with the speed of glacier. She recalled the stated duration of her predicament.
“Four hours!” Lila thought once more. “I may be dead by then.”
She felt this was by no means an exaggeration. In the three (or was it four?) days that she’d been a captive of “Mistress Rayne”, Lila had learned that her tormentor did not make idle threats. Each statement Dr. Attenburg had made, no matter how offhanded, had proven invariably true. Her short haircut, the whippings, the perverted sex acts, the…rapes, all had come to fruition, no matter how preposterous they had sounded at the time. So, if her platinum blonde antagonist said four hours, the brown haired beauty knew she would not be removed one minute sooner.
“I wonder who’ll come for me?” She thought, apprehensively.
No matter who did, it would only mean a change of her bondage, not her situation. Would it be the vile Carl? The man who had raped her repeatedly. Or Velma, the sadistic second-in-charge who seemed determined to “one up” her superior’s cruelty at every opportunity. No doubt, Lila feared Mistress Rayne’s return most of all. The Mistress was capable of torturing the poor girl not only physically, but psychologically and emotionally as well.
And the results were working, though so subtly that Lila was unaware of the transition. She no longer thought of her captor as Dr. Attenburg, Director of Byberry State Mental hospital. She’d come to think of her as only “Mistress Rayne” or simply, “Mistress”. Normally, such a change over a relatively short period of time would have shocked her. But the trials she’d had to endure were anything but ‘normal’.
By the time someone came for her, Lila had drifted into a near trance-like state. This wasn’t due to boredom, more to immobility. Her lethargy did nothing to ease the pain. Her body had transformed into one gigantic ache. Even the parts of her that had gone numb, still burned with cramping discomfort. Unable to turn around, she listened with trepidation, for the voice of the one designated to release her. Lila’s heart sank at the cold tone of Mistress Rayne.
“Rest period’s up, cunt.” Rayne growled in her captive’s ear. “Now that you’ve had time to put your feet up, I’ve a very special playmate I want you to meet.”
Whoever the woman was talking about, Lila knew that “play” would not be an accurate description. The fawn haired lovely groaned as her folded legs were released. The massive ball gag did a commendable job of blocking all but the weakest sound from emerging, aided by the “special something” Carl had added first.
The tiny wad of silk pressed up against the back of the yellow ball, held there by Lila’s folded tongue. The sodden material didn’t take up much space (there wasn’t much to spare), but its symbolism spoke volumes. It was one of Mistress Rayne’s silk thongs. Carl had assured her that the dominatrix had fingered herself to multiple orgasms whist wearing it.
“To acclimate you to the tasks that lie ahead.” Carl had informed her. “Besides,” he’d added with a laugh, “my boxers wouldn’t fit in there.”
Once in place, Lila had been forced to savor the salty, visceral taste of another woman’s sex. Though the initial nausea had passed, the flavor unfortunately, had not. It was just another underlying torment mixed in with those on a grander scale.
As Rayne lowered each of Lila’s legs, the girl found out they hadn’t been completely freed. A short chain had been attached to a strap which now passed around each thigh. The chain ended at another strap snaring her ankle. A groan leaked from Lila’s throat, anticipating what was to come.
Sure enough, the prisoner felt yet another style of severe footwear being fitted on to her foot. Each and every time she had been made ambulatory, some sort of high heeled shoe, boot or sandal was part of the standard equipment. All would have been a challenge to walk in, even without the restraints. Lila would have laughed, had there been any humor in it, when she was decked out in heels AND a hobble.
The footwear, always a size too small, quickly bunched her toes together in its pointy toe. Her foot was repositioned almost straight with her leg, becoming frozen in that position as the footgear was secured. Once in position, the ankle strap was removed. Lila felt the stiff leather work its way up to her knee. God, how she hated the kind that laced up. She knew that they would relentlessly squeeze her straining calves.
Once in place, Mistress Rayne released the tether holding Lila upright. The girl had little fear of falling. These people had no problem with causing her pain, at the same time, made sure she was not injured by accident. Showing strength that had astonished young Miss Powell the first time, Dr. Attenburg picked Lila up off her steel perch. She set the girl down, allowing her a few moments to become accustomed to the boots.
To Lila, she felt as though she was standing on stilts, although the top of her head came just to Rayne’s nose. With adjustment time over, Dr. Attenburg buckled a heavily padded leather blindfold over Lila’s eyes. The routine was the same. Although she’d never had to travel a great distance, she was always forced to do it sightless. She’d seen several of the cells during her stay, but the area beyond each of the barred doors remained a mystery. There was tug on the steel tether, now a leash. Obediently (for there was little choice), the trussed brunette followed.
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