D2-670A
Part 11
Rene had no idea how much later it was when she finally pulled her red-raw right
wrist free of the cruel cord that had been holding her hands captive. She took a
moment to congratulate herself on yet another escape, and then wearily pulled
her other hand free. Rene's problems did not end there, however. Her elbows were
still securely bound behind her, and unlike her wrists, she instinctively knew
there was no way she could wriggle them free. Thinking quickly, Rene scooted
down the bed and awkwardly - given the position of her elbows - reached for her
feet. The tips of her fingers soon found the small knots but were unable to pick
at them effectively. Instead, Rene was forced to saw at the cord with the side
of her longest nail. It took a while, but eventually Rene could feel the fibers
of the cord snapping away. Finally, she broke through and a few short kicks
later was free to stand for the first time in almost 10 hours.
After allowing the circulation to flow back into her legs, Rene moved to the top
of the bed and raised her arms up and over the corner piece of the wrought iron
bed head. She quickly caught the cord binding her elbows on the pointed tip of
the corner piece and pulled her arms up and away. Gradually at first, and then
more quickly, Rene felt the cord slide lower. She allowed herself a smile of
triumph beneath the many layers of med-wrap gagging her as the cord passed the
bulge of her actual elbows and slipped away. Finally she was able to reach up
and pull the gag away, and spit the horrid wad of cloth packing out of her
mouth.
She was free!
Rene crept over to the door of her prison. She tried the handle, but to her
complete lack of surprise, found it securely locked. Sighing with frustration,
she leant back against the wall of the room. She closed her eyes briefly - as if
seeking some reserve of inner strength - and then settled in to wait for the
next guard unwary enough to check on her.
*****
Marcus was in pain. His head throbbed, his right arm hung uselessly by his side,
and he felt more than a little nauseous. And when Marcus was in pain, he tended
to distract himself by taking it out on those unfortunates around him.
So it was that the inter-dimensional slaver was poised over the gorgeous redhead
that was his prisoner. She was still bound to the straight backed chair via a
network of cord bindings, while her hands were cuffed behind the seat's back
rest. Marcus was satisfied she was going nowhere fast, and was keen to exploit
this situation by subjecting her to his special brand of attention.
In his good hand, he held one end of a wickedly sharp set of clover clamps. The
other end was already attached to Red's left nipple, and by the expression on
her face and the noises she was making through her stuffed tape gag, she was
none too happy about it. Marcus only chuckled quietly as he teased her with the
second set of metal jaws. There was really something about the psychological
aspect of torture that got him going. It wasn't the actual pain - that was
merely a pleasant after effect of the teasing that came before the actual
strike. No, it was more that the slave knew she was not in control of her own
destiny, and yet, rarely refused to give into that knowledge, no matter how
pervasive the evidence. How much simpler it would be, Marcus mused, if slaves
possessed the foresight to simply gave themselves to their Master after one
caress of his whip ... After all, it was going to happen. It was only a matter
of time. And yet his world spent years of education on females, molding them
into the perfect personification of slaves. Surely there had to be an easier
way. Genetic tampering. Or perhaps breeding programs to isolate a submissive
gene.
Marcus shrugged and smiled, pleased with the direction of his thoughts.
And then he attached the second clover clamp to Red's right nipple.
The effect was instantaneous. She sat up as if an electric shock had coursed
through her and sucked in a sharp intake of breath through her nose. Then she
began to buck and strain wildly against the chair, as if attempting to shake the
hateful clamps lose. Marcus knew better than that, however. Nothing short of
equal pressure on both sides of the release catch could only loosen the clamps
from their captive nipples. Marcus knew that anything short of that would only
tear a nipple (or two) away.
Suddenly there was a cracking sound, and the chair the woman was bound too
lurched forward and slightly to the side. Marcus just had time to wonder what
the hell had happened when something hard and bony caught him completely
unawares beneath the chin and sent him crashing backwards.
He had no idea how long he was out - in fact he hadn't even known he was out -
but when Marcus came too, it took him only a few short moments to realize two
things. The first was that his head was throbbing worse than ever. The second
was that Red was now very free and had taken to aiming an MP-432 squarely at his
forehead.
*****
Christian had spent almost the whole morning quizzing Kitara about her
dimension. At first, he hadn't believed a word she had said, and had been
tempted to discipline her for lying. But something about the absurdness of her
story - and indeed the sincerity of her hesitant words - had struck a chord. If
you were going to lie, why be so obvious about it? And more than that, hadn't
one of the reasons Lois had him kidnap Dr. Landcom because she was close to
proving the existence of parallel dimensions?
But to think that a dimension existed where all females were essentially the
bound and gagged slaves of males was simply too good to be true. Christian had
to wonder if he could ever find his way into such a dimension - and if so, what
he could do once he was there. Just the thought of it caused an excited
tightness in his stomach. Life would truly be perfect if he could take Kitara
with him, and force her into place as his number one slave.
He wasn't sure if he especially approved of the emotions she had stirred within
him - but this natural submissive was not someone he was going to let slip
through his fingers anytime soon.
Nevertheless, Christian was a cautious man who never took anything at face
value. He liked to check and double check. It was the reason why he had survived
so long in the political climate of Davidson Global. And it was also why
Veronica was even now languishing in Lois' dungeon. So having paused long enough
to rebind Kitara into a compact hogtie and strap a penis gag into her welcoming
mouth, Christian now rode an elevator down to the floor where the other woman
from Kitara's dimension was being held.
His plan was simple: Confirm Kitara's story, and then, if it was true, find some
way to turn the news to his advantage.
The lift doors slid open and Christian hurried out and down a white corridor
marked with identical brown doors at regular intervals. To the unsuspecting eye,
nothing would have looked out of place in the nondescript corridor. But
Christian knew better. This entire level was comprised of Lois' special holding
cells and was situated just a short flight of stairs above her ready made
dungeon. No one but those with the highest security ratings had access to these
rooms, and the prisoners that often lay within.
His key card already in hand, Christian reached the door to Rene's cell and slid
it through the electronic lock. The door sprang open and he pushed his way
inside expecting to find the naked woman trussed to the bed and unable to make a
sound. Instead, he only had time to utter "What the fuck?" before something
slammed into him from behind and cannoned him head first into the wall.
*****
Dr Heather Landcom was, to put it quite plainly, terrified. It was bad enough
that she'd been marched back into Lois Davenport's private dungeon, briefly
unbound, and then strapped into what could only be described as a medieval rack.
This was made worse by the fact that another woman whom Heather recognized as
Lois's advisor, Veronica Sloane, was hanging suspended by her ankles on the
other side of the room and bound inside a latex straitjacket. Communication
between the two women - even after Heather's escort had left the room - had
been impossible, as Veronica was silenced by some kind of exotic leather gag,
while Heather still sported the same O-ring with its intrusive rubber plug
attachment.
As the minutes ticked away, Heather began to realize that Veroinca was in a
great deal of distress. Her chest heaved beneath the black leather of the
straitjacket, and her breath whistled through her nose in labored gasps. From
time to time a muted moan would escape the confines of her gag, but by and
large, her communication was limited to the ungainly wriggling she engaged in
whenever she had enough energy. To Heather, she looked like a newly reeled in
fish, spasming on the end of a hook.
The situation became much worse an immeasurable amount of time later when Lois
Davenport swept into the room. Heather gasped into her gag when she saw her
former employer - dressed to kill (or should that be to torture? an inner voice
remarked dryly) in a leather mini skirt, vest, white shirt and perfectly knotted
black tie. The ensemble was completed by black stockings, short gloves and
knee-high patent leather boots. She immediately moved alongside Veronica and
began to gloat over her position, rubbing a gloved hand over the helpless
woman's exposed legs and strapped crotch. It wasn't long before the inevitable
happened, and Lois strode over to her second captive, smile wide and eyes
gleaming.
"And how is the good doctor?" she asked mockingly. "I trust you were secure in
your accommodations." Lois laughed at her own joke, and Heather turned away.
"Oh, don't be like that - not when I have so many exciting activities planned
for this afternoon."
Heather stifled a moan as she recalled the "activities" she had been subjected
to the night before.
Lois cupped Heather's chin and titled her head until their eyes met. "But don't
worry, I'm going to be starting with Veronica. That way, your anticipation
levels can build up nice and slowly." Lois laughed and spun away, looking for
all the world like a child in a playground - which, Heather came to realize over
the next hour, she probably was.
The young doctor was forced to watch in silence as Lois proceeded to lower her
ex-advisor (and from the sounds of their one way conversation, ex-partner) from
her inverted suspension, only to rebind her ankles and make her hop across the
room to lean against the wooden horse. Once there, her ankles were again unbound
and she was "helped" into a straddling position across the horse. Heather was
familiar enough with the torturous instrument to know that Veronica would next
be released from the straitjacket only to have her wrists bound behind her and
lifted as high as they could go - a position that would force her weight forward
and thereby press her clitoris into the pointed edge of the wedge shaped seat of
the horse. Her ankles would be bound to the horse's legs and she would be left
to deal with the mounting agony of her pubic mound being crushed into the
unyielding ridge of wood.
Heather had been exactly right - except that Lois had not left Veronica alone.
Rather, the shirt-and-tied dominatrix had begun to drip scalding hot wax all
over her helpless victim's back, while she squirmed and twisted against her
inescapable bonds and screamed into the bizarre contraption gagging her. This
went on for longer than Heather could bare to watch, so she eventually turned
away and tried to block out the muffled grunts and screeches intermingled with
triumphant comments. Her efforts were interrupted within a few moments, however,
as Lois noticed her secondary quarry attempting to shy away from the
demonstration.
"I'd be paying more attention if I were you, doctor, otherwise I may just have
to get you over here earlier than anticipated."
Reluctantly, Heather turned back to watch the rest of Veronica's torture ... and
had to stifle a gasp of surprise. There, not ten feet behind Lois and creeping
steadily forward, was the woman she had spent the previous night tied to.
Heather was again struck by how similar the woman looked to herself - despite
the fact that she was now clothed in an ill fitting navy-blue jump suit.
The woman caught Heather's eye and paused in her advance to raise a finger to
her lips. With an effort, Heather tore her gaze away from her potential savior
to again stare at the bizarre display being conducted by Lois.
"That's better," said her former employer, as she paused to straighten her tie.
"In any case, I think it's time we moved on to the riding crop. Don't you,
Veronica?"
Just as Lois was beginning to laugh at Veronica's answering groan, Heather saw
her look alike rear up to slam a fist into the side of her former employer's
skull ...
*****
