BDSM Library - Under His Thumb

The only thing louder than the sound of slurping was the heavy breathing. Bent in an awkward position over Leslie's crotch was the elegant form of a woman with a heart shaped bottom. Her hair cascaded over her face.

Two suits were vigorously pumping themselves into a lather. The young woman on the screen rode Leslie's boot like an equestrienne. The sight was just too much for the Viagra challenged executives. Accompanied by strangled grunts, anemic jets of fluid streamed across the theater seats. Once recovered, they lit the customary Cohibas and imbibed a glass of port as they contemplated the video clip of Lindsay Wilson, Protege of the Month.

The private media center was used to screen collections of clips that featured denigrated, nubile innocents, privately 'recruited' for the few, the powerful, and the well-heeled. The organization was called Sanspeur. Dick Hertz, Loren Leslie, and the other members of the Sanspeur shuffled morsels of young female pulchritude among themselves until they were no longer useful.

"She really wasn't that much of a challenge," panned Leslie, "If only she'd try to bolt from the room. At least the minx would have been a treat to tackle and gag. And I was so ready."

"I have to raise the bar on Miss Goody Two Shoes, who happened to ENJOY the crop!" complained Dick, staring dejectedly at the screen. "What a waste."

"It wasn't a TOTAL waste," Leslie chimed, as a smile curled on his lips.

"You bastard." said Dick with envy.

"Send her to Armstrong." prompted Leslie in his arched New England accent.

The silence was deafening as both men contemplated the suggestion.

"I don't know," hedged Dick. "He totally destroyed Jenna, not to mention cute, little Amy, who had to be put down."

Leslie nodded in agreement, "Yes, that was unfortunate."

"However," Dick's eyes sparkled with inspiration, "One of us could be there to oversee the breaking."

"Yes, yes...and I suppose it should be you. At least I got a crack at her first," baited Leslie as he sounded even more annoying.

Armstrong

Armstrong was his only name. People in certain circles trembled when they heard it. Well connected and owned by no one, he had the Sanspeur by the short hairs. Armstrong was the Janus of their world, where perversion was a prerequisite. Tall and raw boned, he resembled Nick Nolte on dress up day. His shock of white blond hair, worn a little too wild for a man of his stature, was gathered in a ponytail at the back of his neck. His face was a combination of a hopeless romantic cloaked with the coldness of Hannibal Lecter. This anomaly gave him an edge in seduction and collaring, a challenge he enjoyed.

He had gotten his feet wet in London where he became deeply involved in underbelly of BDSM. Over the years, he developed new techniques and fine tuned old ones. This was how he made a name for himself as an international slave trainer.

Worn down by a life, he was ready to retire at the ripe young age of sixty. As word got out about his impending retirement, the members of the Sanspeur made him an offer he couldn't refuse, which, to this day, remains classified.

He had autonomy to run the new training facility and hand picked staff. Special people did this kind of work, people who had been trained and were loyal to Armstrong. Truth be told, Armstrong was not without failure. In the past, several employees misused their authority and caused damage to inventory. Once discovered, appropriate measures were taken so that they fulfilled the damaged inventory's service themselves or die.

The Lindsay clip was sent to Armstrong who agreed to make the ingenue suitable for their purposes. Lindsay would be snatched without prior notice to the Sanspeur, for obvious reasons. No interference with Armstrong was allowed once the wheels were set in motion.

Monday, Monday

Lindsay writhed with cries and twisted sobs as she reached her long denied crisis. She was lost in space riding Dick for all she was worth while a naked Loren Leslie painted her backside with thin red lines. Her breasts were firm handles for Dick to hold on to while she rode him to oblivion. Leslie's shrunken balls were in sharp contrast to the flagpole he sported. He flicked a horsewhip at the bitch's back with expertise while he impatiently waited his turn. The permutations, highly charged, infused the sadistic lust of the participants. She was left pulsing and sated. As sweat dripped off her back and a light mist settled in between her breasts, she drifted off on a cloud.

The music alarm clock awakened her to the sounds of Edwyn Collins' "I Never Met a Girl Like You Before." Prompted to hum along, Lindsay stretched like a just-roused cat and rolled out of bed. She checked her pussy's dampness and jumped into the shower to wash away remnants of her dream.

Freshly showered and smelling like a newborn, Lindsay was faced the usual female dilemma, what to wear. Her closet was outfitted with a limited but stylish wardrobe, mostly geared for work. She settled on a Jackie O style Chanel suit. It was her favorite. The persimmon and chocolate colors of the boucle complemented her coloring. She contemplated the outfit she wore to Loren Leslie's office. It triggered the memory of her prone figure being kissed by the crop and she felt fluttery back flips in her stomach. She reached instinctively for her backside and smiled. Slut. She had enjoyed every damn degrading bit of it.

Running late as usual, she missed the train today. As she scampered to the lobby of her apartment building, a doorman hailed her last cab.

Snatched

Inside a van, two men who had been tracking Lindsay shook their heads. She appeared to be a creature of habit and relatively easy to snatch.

"It's almost like kidnapping a baby for crissakes," said Neal. "She's easy prey for a mugger."

Neal was an apprentice trainer under one of Armstrong's long time trackers.

"Don't get all soft on me. It's just cargo." warned Kiffer as he scanned the crowd for the perfect moment to nab her.

The cab dropped her off near the office. She was going to grab her usual cup of joe and muffin that she lived on for most of the day. As the sylph spilled out of the cab, she balanced perfectly on pencil thin stilettos.

"How does she walk in those things," questioned Neal with awe.

"Now," commanded Kiffer, jumping out of the van.

Suddenly, Lindsay was flanked by the men and dissolved into the crowd like melted ice cream on a hot day.

Cell phone in hand, Neal whispered the words, "Cargo is in receipt. Repeat. Cargo is in receipt, over."

The last thing she would remember was the pin prick.

She's Missing?

"Vera? Can you send Lindsay in, please?" asked Dick.

"She's not in yet Mr. Hertz."

He looked at his watch. She was an hour late. Dick blanched. She'd been snatched and the plan's been set in motion. There was no turning back now. He grabbed the phone.

"It's on."

At First Blush

Her Chanel suit was removed and underwear cut off. It was a shame, too, for it was Cosabella finery. For shits and grins, they left her pencil thin stilettos on. The long ride back would be a little prettier. Blissfully unconscious, Lindsay didn't suffer the pain and humiliation of being stripped and tied. Drool puddled under her chin. Her body was bound into a pretzel. It was unnecessary because she was not expected to stir for hours. As the van sped along the deserted highway, the trees looked like discarded matchsticks backlit by the evening sun.

The training compound looked like a Federal style house from the outside. Lindsay slept as the van approached the wisteria laden porte-cochere.

She was lifted out and carried to the keeping area where Armstrong was waiting.

"Put her in the cage," said he without looking up. He was reviewing a file folder, making notes, and marking up the margins.

Kiffer lifted the parcel of curves and bones that was Lindsay. She hadn't budged since the snatching. He placed her in the suspended birdcage.

"Wake her up." said Armstrong, shaking his leg impatiently.

He watched Kiffer inject her with a shot of adrenaline. The world came spinning down with a hammer slam. As she jerked, her lungs sucked air and words couldn't form in her mouth. Her eyes appeared dilated and unfocused. Kiffer looked at Armstrong anxiously and waited for the order to call the infirmary. Armstrong waved him down, as if allay his concern.

"The is a new method for bringing cargo back to earth. Relax," he said.

After a few minutes of sputtered choking, Lindsay whimpered.

Placidly, Armstrong conferred with Kiffer as if she wasn't there. As her lucidity returned, her eyes scanned the room, windows, and the door of the cage. She pushed the cage door and it squeaked like a rusty hinge. Lindsay lunged out of the cage only to be trapped by the stilettos caught on the metal grates. Mewling like a wounded animal, she fell half in and half out of the cage. After they struggled to untangle her, Armstrong helped Kiffer tether the rebellious captive to the intake chair.

"This little bitch needs a little more convincing that she's not in charge anymore. She's made intake harder than it should be." complained Armstrong as he handed the gag to Kiffer.

"Why didn't you follow procedure and drive home that point on the ride back?" he chided.

"Um..we had to sedate her immediately. Taken in broad daylight, any resistance would have brought too much attention." offered Kiffer lamely.

"See to it." Armstrong huffed as he walked out.

Kiffer surveyed the situation and pulled out the compliance kit.

"Neal," he called into his walkie talkie.

Lindsay's Shocking Experience

The Intake Chair was a custom piece Armstrong had commissioned. Outfitted with hooks, rings, restraint bars that were adjustable, the chair was an invaluable tool. The restraint set up for Lindsay resembled the letter T. Her head was pressed into the back of the chair and her neck fastened to the crossbar, leaving her immobile from the neck up. Her waist, wrists and ankles were secured to the frame with velcro straps. She looked like a pinned butterfly. Tears sprung from fear and frustration as the nubile executive, reduced to a naked, bound captive, tried shake herself loose. She used whatever energy she had left to push against the bindings, but to no avail. Lindsay prayed for this to be a bad dream.

Kiffer approached as Neal looked on, "Look at their eyes when they are told they are nothing but holes."

Sure enough, her eyes opened up to the size of saucers, for it was not just the statement Kiffer made, but the work table with metal instruments that he rolled over to her. The shiny, stainless steel tray, spotless and antiseptic, contained an assortment of clamps, pincers, and other items that were foreign to her. Below the tray was a metal box with dials, knobs, and wires. This left no doubt that the outcome of this situation would be grim.

As he reached for the wires coming out of the electrical box, Kiffer explained how to use the equipment.

"See the tiny teeth in these clamps? They don't cause permanent damage but they grip the skin effectively. The wires at the end lead to the box that controls the amperage. What's that, you may ask. Amperage is the strength of the electrical current discharged through the clamps. Yep, we are going to attach these babies to her nips. Won't that be fun." he said as he tested the 'hot' clamps on his finger.

Neal grabbed Lindsay's right breast to hold still for the clamp. Throwing Neal daggers with her eyes, she jerked and complained behind the gag. Kiffer pinched the areole between his thumb and forefinger and applied the implement. Neal energetically stepped to the other side of the chair to tweaked the left nipple for the other clamp. Her torso moved like a cobra as the pincers had firm hold of her nipples. While Lindsay struggled to adjust to the pinching of the clamps, Kiffer turned the power dial to its lowest setting. She stopped squirming as a slight tingling teased her nipples. He turned it up a notch and the result was amazing. As her fingernails dug into the armrest, her toes curled up and stayed that way until the zap was over. She struggled to catch her breath like a woman between pushes in labor. This went on for about five minutes until her head fell forward, exhausted into oblivion. They quickly removed the clamps and Kiffer checked her heart with a stereoscope. He grabbed a bucket of cold water and splashed her. Jolted awake, she was dazed and confused.

As Kiffer made notes, Neal circled Lindsay like a tiger, his hardon tented his pants. Kiffer laughed. He sported one too.

"Call the boys, it's baptism time."

Neal pulled out his cell phone and called all available staff to the intake room. In no time, the men took their usual positions in front of the chair. They pulled down their pants, aimed their dicks in Lindsay's direction and christened her into a life of submission. She shut her eyes to protect them from the biting spray of urine as they laughed and called her a piss-mop.

Author's note: Patience. Please don't be annoyed with me. I'm polishing up the next chapter. Don't want to spill the beans all at once. (Smile!)

~Cueball~

A tall, beautiful woman stood naked in front of Lindsay with a notebook in hand. Her posture was perfect. Long muscular were legs spread about a foot apart while her hands held a clipboard behind her back. A stainless steel collar elongated her neck and accentuated the bald head. Rings in her nipples and labia complemented the look. Armstrong led her in by a leash that he hooked on the wall next to Lindsay.

"This is Cueball and she is mine to use and abuse. It's not her fault she is here, but that isn't the point. She is used in all manners as you will be as well."

"Tell her about yourself before," he instructed her.

On command, Cueball, her lips huge, as if stung by bees, spoke without emotion or hesitation.

"I was Angie Page, a free woman, and a virgin in every sense. My family had social standing and my place in the world was secure. Norman Page, my grandfather and one of the Sanspeur founders, misplaced some funds. His restitution was me."

"What are you now?" smiled Armstrong.

Cueball's cerulean blue eyes, which added to her ethereal beauty, met Lindsay's, "I am nineteen years old."

She hesitated. "And..." he prodded. The whip in his hand cracked her flanks. Lindsay flinched. "Yours to do with whatever you will," she finished.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions. Save them for later. Cueball is here to interview you. Cooperate fully or else," said Armstrong as he walked out the door.

Lindsay was pissy, but knew better than to open her mouth. About to complain about the smell from the baptism, she figured if they could stand it, so could she.

Cueball watched her face as questions were asked and answered. Although she tried not to stare, Lindsay cooperated to a certain degree. Some of the questions about her masturbation habits and fantasies were answered with lies. But, they expected that.

The questions were engineered to provide an opening for ongoing monologue on topics that touched on Lindsay's deepest fears and vulnerabilities.

The interview went on for three hours with a break for Cueball every 30 minutes. When it was over, Lindsay was drained from talking and desperately needed to relieve herself.

"I need to pee." she said.

Cueball looked at her with indifference.

"Did you hear me? My bladder is about to burst," said Lindsay desperately.

"Hold it." said Cueball.

"If you don't let me go to the bathroom, I'm going to pee right here." she threatened.

A voice boomed "Do it."

She recognized the voice. Struggling against her bonds, Lindsay was desperate and angry.

"Your eyes look a little yellow, Princess. If ya gotta pee, do it," said an amused Kiffer as he walked in.

"Armstrong wants you in his office," Kiffer said to Cueball, who quickly left.

Lindsay let go of a few drops, but looked away at the last minute.

He grabbed her by the hair on top of her head and said, "Finish. Look in my eyes while you do it."

She closed her eyes and started to release the water.

He jerked her head again, grabbed her chin, and made her look at him, "Pee...now."

Tears of humiliation and relief ran down her face. The splashing sound added to her shame. It took a a minute for her bladder to empty.

"And now for your first lesson," he said as his pulse quickened in his throat.

He released the hold on her hair and fastened her wrists to a beam high above her head, the ropes digging into her wrists. Standing on her toes, she was taut as a steel cable, like a guitar string, ready to be plucked.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," she instinctively complained and watched as he removed something from his belt.

Kiffer was a sadist. He liked dispensing pain on their helpless bodies, not just because of the training methods, but all the things that lead up to it, and finally, the satisfaction of the owners that followed.

Without any preamble, he started swinging the thick leather strop repeatedly and relentlessly. Her body rocked and swung like a pendulum as he struck her bum, back, and thighs.

Lindsay screamed in agony and when her screams seemed to fade, Kiffer picked up the cane. He ran the tip of the cane over her hard nipples. With all her athleticism and beauty, he toyed with her, lifting and tapping various parts of her body with the cane, making painfully obvious her helplessness. He slid it down to her dripping pussy, where he dipped the tip inside and brought it up to his lips to lick.

Her eyes were chasms to her soul and the hapless girl eventually succumbed. He masturbated her with his hand and alternated with the pain of the cane. Each time he brought her close to cumming, he'd crack the cane on her breasts. The cycle of pleasure/pain was interminable. She was driven close to madness until, finally, she was allowed to cum.

It was time for her to rest in her new quarters. As Kiffer took her down from the beam, Neal came in to support her while she was fettered.

"You will be beaten, often, and for no particular reason other than you are there to be beaten," he lectured.

She cowered as his hands moved to check the hobble.

Drenched in sweat, Kiffer handed her over to Neal, "Take her."

Lindsay stumbled as Neal held onto her hair as a handle. They had gone a hundred feet or so and he stopped to see if the coast was clear. He pushed Lindsay down to her knees and fed her his cock.

"This lesson will be enforced regularly," Neal mumbled in low, guttural tones as he watched the tear filled face deep throat his cock. His hips slowly rocked into her head in a syncopated rhythm. It wasn't just the fly on the wall who was witness to the fettered young woman on her knees, being forced to swallow her captor in complete subjugation.

~The Webcam Effect~

Clips of Lindsay were sent to Loren Leslie via cyberspace. He watched them over and over while he fondled his dick with the remnants of her panties that he kept from their first meeting. Covered in cum, Lindsay was still a dish. He laughed wickedly as a string of goo blocked one of her nostrils. God he loved humiliated young women, especially those who seemed to walk on water before they drowned.

~Later~

A sleep deprived Lindsay was chained to the wall by her collar, arms bound above her, and her thighs splayed with a spreader bar. Pornography on the flat screen tv played continuously. She was naked save for a chastity belt that housed a computer climax control chip. The chip was designed to emit a controlled vibration until she reached the point of orgasm, then it would stop. The cycle of torture, meant to keep her in a constant state of arousal, was continuous. The trilling of her pussy rendered her willing to do anything just to be able to cum.

At Dick's insistence, Armstrong allowed his secretary, Vera, to observe Lindsay's progress. Armstrong liked Vera. She was level headed, no nonsense, and dependable. He was always trying to hire her away from Dick and figured that someday, she'd see it his way.

"You are getting more exposure," teased Vera. "I read your interview in this month's DOM Training News. And here I thought you were shy."

He reddened a bit and she noticed. He turned up the sound on the monitor and they heard Lindsay's desperate cries.

"She looks a little weak. Have you fed her yet?" she asked. "And why is only one of her eyes open? Is that dried cum on her face?"

"Neal fed her," he smirked. "Wanna see?"

Vera rolled her eyes, "No, not really."

As she examined the paperwork and photos, she remarked, "She does have the makings of a true slut. I told Dick that the minute I saw her."

"She's not bad. In fact, she's easier than I thought she'd be." he admitted, "I wish they'd let me do more to her."

"Tsk, tsk..." admonished Vera. "There is a lot of Dick riding on this one. Let her be." And she smiled at her pun.

Meanwhile, he had other whores to train and sell, and the day was getting shorter.

Before he left, Armstrong pulled out his cellphone and said, "Send in cleanup. Tell them their asses will be in a sling if they don't stay on top of their game."

Lindsay's eye was caked shut with dried sperm and the rest of her face felt like she had a clay masque. Kiffer couldn't stand to look at her and hastened the cleanup crew to come with hoses, soap, and a first aid kit.

The curled up ball of cum deprived slut flesh was oblivious to the sudden burst of activity in the room. A blast of cold water from the hose took her breath away and she shook and cried at the same time. They took no notice. It happened all the time.

They used soap and a wash rag to soften the crusted cum enough to scrub it off. They gave her a peanut butter sandwich, a glass of milk, and a toothbrush.

When they were done, Lindsay's skin was shiny and pink and her wet hair was bound it up in a high ponytail. They even put Visine in her eyes to reduce the redness. She was almost as pretty as a picture. Kiffer turned to the closed circuit tv and asked a question with his eyes.

Through the loudspeaker came the word "Yes."

The Piercing

Kiffer, accompanied by Neal, took Lindsay to an examination room. On one wall, there was a collage of enema bags in every shape and color, each hanging on its own hook. The counter top had an open box of latex gloves, electric paddles, stainless steel speculums in an array of sizes, and a tray of smaller instruments resting on a metal cart. Fear gripped her and she broke away, but stumbled. Rolling his eyes to the heavens, Kiffer picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

"Get used to the idea that you are not Lindsay Wilson anymore," he said quietly while she cried silently. "Your owners will have the pleasure of naming you whatever they want. But for now, your name is cumslut."

Kiffer and Neal laughed uproariously as they teased, "Would you like cream with your tea, Princess, or is it cumslut?"

"Owners?" She spoke without thinking, immediately regretting it.

"Oh. You don't know. Well, let's keep it that way," he said quickly as he nodded to Neal for assistance.

She was placed in a chair outfitted with hooks and rings that made possible any permutation of restraint. Lindsay's head was locked in place with a band around her forehead. Wide belts fastened her torso and thighs to the padded chair back. Talons of fear gripped her stomach as she remembered the last time she was in a chair like this.

Kiffer observed her tension said, "Relax Princess, you are getting new jewelry today. If you tense up too much, you'll fuck it up."

The vibrating chastity belt kept her off kilter and whatever energy she had left to push against the bindings, had drained out of her. She closed her eyes and prayed once more for this to be a bad dream.

They picked through a box of metal fittings and stopped when Kiffer settled on a pair of stainless steel rings, 20mm.

"These are a bit heavier than what we normally use, but, they're more user friendly." Neal cracked up.

Lindsay listened with horror but her pussy was wet with arousal and the vibration stopped.

"Oh, scared, are we? Is that why your metal panties stopped humming?" they mocked.

The bastards put a ball gag on her. She hated with every fiber of her being. The belt started vibrating again as her arousal level dropped. Her brain cells were turning into a shaken martini.

"Neal, get those rubber tipped forceps off the tray, I'll show you how to pierce nipples," he said. "Looks like you won't have to coax those little nubs into getting hard."

She closed her eyes, felt the pinch as it pulled her nipple away from the chest wall.

"And now, a little prick..."

As the needle punctured the nipple, and the heavy rings were threaded through, the nipples were doused with antiseptic and iced.

Vera walked into the room to check in on them just as they were finishing up.

"Her pussy," she pointed.

Kiffer looked at her quizzically.

"The lacings...pierce her for the lacings!" Vera said impatiently as she sat down, "And I'll watch, if you don't mind."

As her chastity belt was removed, she was bathed with warm soapy water and dried.

Vera picked out eight small rings from the box, four for each labia. The stimulation of her pussy made the lips swollen, thus easier to mark for even spacing and then, pierce. When the rings were inserted, the three of them stood back to admire the newly pierced slave.

"Get the ice." Versa said to Neal.

A few hours later, as Lindsay was coming out of her fog, Vera was seated next to her and patted her thigh, "There, there, Lindsay. Everything will be all right. You look delicious for a cumslut, by the way."

She had been freed of her bondage and felt the rings in her breasts along with the incredible searing pain on her pussy lips. And she remembered.

Vera, her stalwart assistant, was heavily made up with dark eyes and garish red lipstick. Her June Cleaver hair was a spiked up updo. Black boots, latex pants, and a tight leather jacket, left no doubt who the boss was now.

"You look hungry dear. The only thing on the menu today is tuna," said Vera as she spread her thighs.

She unzipped the center seam of her crotch and exposed a patch of lush curls, "On your knees girly. Lunch is served."

Vera forced her to her knees. Lindsay never dived into muff before, but, reluctantly, she did it. Her tongue flicked at the protruded clit, discovered that it wasn't so bad. She became a little more daring and pushed further into the folds of the furry target. Vera giggled at Lindsay's awkward attempt to please her and stroked the bobbing head.

"Come on baby, you can lick harder than that. Flatten that tongue, then make it pointy again. Suck the lips and gently bite them, then, blow," she cooed. Judging from Vera's moans, Lindsay knew she was doing something right, so she dug in with renewed enthusiasm and began to strum her clit to orgasm.

Though her cunt lips were newly pierced, she was dripping juices. Like an angel of mercy, Cueball appeared behind the unsuspecting girl, stuck her tongue into the needy pussy, and licked her with great relish. Lindsay's was singing stifled cries of release into Vera's cunt.

"What a good slave sister you are, and hungry for the cuntling, aren't you? Carry on," she instructed the bald whore.

Lindsay half listened to Vera and pushed back as if Cueball was a scratching post. She was lost between Vera's legs, mewling and screaming in a half crazed way.

Vera, the great director of staged orgasms, savored the sight of the submissive cats at play. As she hunched against Lindsay's screaming mouth, Vera hissed into a squirting climax.

Dick was slumped in his chair with loosened tie and had his pants down around his ankles. His cock was still jerking like a just killed chicken, coating the computer screen with stringy, clotted cum.

Under His Thumb

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