The Basement Mirror

The Basement Mirror

This is a rewrite of my original story, The Basement, but by from the standpoint of the women.   The draft was submitted by a reader - I liked it enough to convert it to my format of presentation and to edit a few places that didn’t match the original.

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Prolog

My name is Pamela - Pam, for short - and I am writing this for my own benefit.  I have no expectations that this will ever be read, but I have plenty of time and a considerable amount of self-education from reading over the years.  As I have no one to impress or deceive, this story needs no lies to cover up any shame.   It may be wrong in spots from a faulty memory, but there are no deliberate untruths.

I have no idea of the date - it was long, long ago when myself and my friend were first brought here.  Our entire universe is composed of a room about eighty feet by thirty.  Comfortable, to be sure, but still a confined space to serve out our life sentences for being accessories to a felony committed on that day, far in our pasts.

Our isolation is complete.  We have no knowledge of the outside world beyond what it was at the time we were both twenty-four years of age.   Just to set the timeline, Reagan was President, the new spaceplane was flying and little computers were becoming available to the average person - although nothing like this one that my Master has graciously allowed me to use. 

We have TV, but only for recorded movies and serials and none of those are dated past the time we came here.  Also, lots of books are available, but again, time constrained to the above date or before.  Our only updates for the outside world are casual remarks that have been inadvertently dropped by our Master or his friends.    Apparently there has been another war, and everything has some kind of computer connection with everything else.  Oh, and phones are actually little screens that you can carry around with you - we have actually seen a couple that were brought down the stairs into our domain.

There are three of us, now - female, submissive and required to dedicate our lives to the sexual satisfaction of men...

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Wanderings

My friend, Liz, and I were a pair of ordinary ‘cunts’, just to use the word usually applied years ago to young females with no particular skills.   We both had graduated from high school - somehow - but without learning anything that would make an employer want to hire us.    At the time that this story begins, we were twenty four years of age.

Lis is taller than me by a couple of inches, and brunette - same as me.  We both have good sized breasts and fairly good figures - at least, no boy ever kicked us out of his bed.   One thing she has - had - that I don’t, is a temper.   Of course, that was before the time that the display of a temper tantrum could get her strung up and lashed unmercifully.  

Anyway, to get on with the story, back in… oh, about the early 1980’s, we had just been let go of our temporary jobs.    I can’t even remember what they were, but I do know that they were menial occupations.   But, two young girls who are willing to spread their legs had no problem hooking up with a couple of like untalented males who would feed them and allow them to share their beds for the night.

The two young men, like us, were semi-educated, out of work and not really all that interested in settling down to a steady job.   Rather, they drove around in their only asset, an old pickup, and looked for easy pickings to tide them over for another day.  We had no idea - and this is the absolute truth - that neither of our two male comrades had any compunction about causing bodily harm in their pursuit of easy living.

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That Day

We were deep in the countryside - at least a hundred miles from the big city that we started from and had driven down a long dirt road and parked beside an old house, deep in the trees.    Both of the men, and I can’t remember their names, told us to wait and then disappeared around the side of the house.

Sitting in the little crew cab behind the front seat, we both assumed that they were trying to find someone to scam, or something to steal. 

"What the hell do they think they’re going to find out here," asked Liz.  "This place is a dump."

I just shrugged.  "Who knows?  Joe," - that name will do as good as any other - "Joe said he had an uncle out here somewhere."   I looked back at the house, but neither of them were in sight.   Frankly, 'Joe' and his friend might be good for our temporary upkeep, but if I was a relative, I wouldn’t lend him a dime with a dollar for collateral.    I continued.  "Something about them is bothering me.    Why don't we jump ship the next time we come to any decent sized city."

She was still looking around.  "And do what?  Wait tables for redne...   Who’s that?"

Another pickup - much newer - had just appeared on the little dirt road.  It pulled up to within a few dozen feet of ours and stopped.  A young man exited, looked over at our truck, then hurried around the corner of the house.   We wondered if this was a good or bad thing.   We agreed that it was probably bad.  Neither of our male cohorts had much training in the social skills.  

"Bang!  Bang!"  We had seen enough TV shows and movies to recognize gunshots when we heard them.   It had just become obvious that our previous wonderings were wrong.  This wasn't bad.  It had to be REAL bad.

Both of us looked at each other, wide eyed, then back at the house waiting for... what?   "Let’s go!" Lis exclaimed as she opened the little cab door.

I grabbed her arm.  "Go where!?" I demanded.  "We’re miles out in the country."   I looked back toward the house.  Still no activity.  "Besides, if someone sees us running away from here, they’ll think we had something to do with it."    Whatever 'it' was.  Besides,  given our lousy physical conditioning, we would collapse from exhaustion before we even got to the main road.

Liz was still looking up the road in the direction that she desperately wanted to go.  "Goddamit!  What have those two dumb shits done?   We need to...  AHHHH!"

I yelled something also, but I don’t remember what.   Who wouldn't, with an arm stuck through the window and a gun pointing at our faces.   I suddenly realized that the owner was the young man that had just driven up in the new pickup.   Automatically, and in an action that would have been funny in other circumstances, both of us immediately raised our arms in the classic movie gesture that meant "We surrender."

"Get out of the truck," came the order.

Liz finally unfroze enough to answer, somewhat.  "We're just riding with the guys, mister.  Whatever happened, it wasn't us."

It didn't help.  He was still staring at us down the barrel of the gun.  "Lissen up, bitches!   Your guys almost beat my friend to death just to get a few lousy bucks.   I  had to kill both of them to save him.  As far as I'm concerned,  you’re the ringleaders and the sheriff won’t mind a bit if I shoot both of you right now.  Now get out of the fucking truck!"   He opened the door, stepped back and waited.

He didn't wait for long.  We immediately slid out of the back seat and stood beside the pickup.   I suddenly wished that we had worn something besides our very casual tops and short shorts.   Nothing makes you feel more helpless than standing before a gun with your hands in the air and your nipples poking out of a thin T-shirt.  

Well, actually, a lot of things make you feel far more helpless, but that didn’t come till later.

He ordered us to lay on the ground and we immediately did.   I heard some clanking for a minute or so, then my arms were pulled behind me and fastened with something.  Looking over at Liz, I could see that we were attached to a chain, somehow, the end of which was wrapped around a tree.

"Just lay there till I get back.  If you move, I shoot you."

Both of us were now throughly scared.    All we knew was that those idiots had made us accomplices in a major crime, and our next stop was probably jail and then prison.   I was just a hair's breadth away from bawling like a little girl who had been caught fingering herself, and Liz was white and unusually speechless.

Eventually, the young man came back and squatted down in front of us.  Lis started to say something, but he immediately grabbed her by her ponytail, pulled her head back and stuck the gun in her face.  "Be quiet, bitch, and listen carefully.   Let me explain the situation.   Both of you are in deep shit.  Two people are dead and one is severely injured.  And you, somehow are involved."  He paused for a second to look over at me to see if I was paying attention.   I hadn't lost interest, so far.   In fact, I was listening with a terrified intensity to everything he was saying.

"Both of you are looking at some long years in a state pen.   Long years where you both will learn just exactly what the word, 'bitch,' means."  Our attention still wasn’t wandering.   "I may have a plan to let you avoid that.   In fact, to keep you totally out of the situation.   Interested?"

I nodded so hard I almost rubbed my face in the dirt.   Liz tried to, but was constrained by his grip on her hair.

"Ok.   Shortly this place is going to be crawling with cops, so,  I’m going to take you to a place you can hide.   After they leave, I'll come get you and take you away from here.    The only other people who know you are here, are dead, so your names won’t come up in the investigation.   With me so far?"

Two more vigorous nods.   "I'm going to keep your purses in my truck.  If I come back and you're gone from the place I stashed you, then I'll suddenly find your two bags, with all your ID’s inside, and will inform the fuzz that they must have had accomplices.   You will then be murders on the run.  Probably dangerous ones.   If you can get out of the state you can probably avoid being shot on sight, but when you are caught and brought back, it isn't going to be a pleasant interview in a back room, somewhere.   Still interested?"

Two more enthusiastic head bobs.

He lowered the gun and let go of Liz's hair.  "I want you to realize what you are agreeing to.  If I do this for you, I will own you till I get tired of using your bodies.  Are we clear on the terms?   Speak!"

We gave two "Yes, Mister"s.     All we could think of, was that a trade of sex for a not-going-to-prison deal was a no brainer.   He cut the straps on our wrists, and told us to follow him.   Through the woods we went for a few hundred feet, to a little gully.   He told us to sit down and keep quiet till he came back.    And gave us another recital of what would happen if he came back and we were gone.

In a few seconds, the adrenalin shakes began and we collapsed into the leaves under the trees.  It was several minutes before we could speak.

Finally, looking in the direction that the young man had disappeared, she asked,   "What do we do now?"

I shook my head.  "Nothing.   You heard what he said.  He has our purses, our drivers licenses and what little money we had.   It'll be dark in an hour or so.  Do you want to stumble round the woods all night hoping that we somehow find our way out, and that the cops aren't waiting?"   She just shook her head.   "Besides, if supplying a little pussy is all it costs us to get out of this horrible mess, then that's a great deal."   I looked at  her, hoping that she wasn't going to do something stupid out of panic.  "And he isn't a bad looking dude, either."   I thought of something else.  "Did you see how he was dressed and what he drove?   He also has money."

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The Basement

It was almost dark before the young man came back.  He told us that so far, everything was kosher, but we needed to get away from the scene of the crime before someone noticed us.   Even at the time, I wondered about that statement.   As far as I could tell, only the squirrels and owls were going to notice us until we drove a fairly long way.

The drive wasn't far - maybe ten or fifteen miles, although even at the time I could never have retraced it.   We drove up to a very large ranch style house - I think.  It was almost dark at the time.   He immediately ordered us to follow him and shortly we were walking down a long flight of steps into...

A basement.   At the time I made little notice of it, but in the days that followed I obviously became very familiar with it.   In fact, since that day, I have never left it.   It was long and rectangular, with a concrete floor.  The entire area was about seventy or eighty feet long and twenty five or so feet wide.   The walls were also concrete but had been overlaid with some kind of hard plaster and were pure white.   Unlike most basements that I had ever seen, this one had a very high ceiling - maybe fifteen feet or more and gave an expansive look.  So much so that it made the entire room look much larger than it was.  

He sat us down on the floor, facing the wall and told us in no uncertain terms, not to look around.   I heard some metallic clanking behind us, then suddenly a chain was wrapped loosely around my neck and secured with a padlock.  

I was getting a sinking feeling.  This guy didn't just want tail from us.  He wanted us secured for real.  Thoughts of a sadistic torturer began to run though my head and the idea that not running away when we had the chance might have been our last mistake.

"Stand up.  Turn around."   We did so, with myself feeling of the heaviness of the chain now dangling from my neck.  I saw that it was laid across the floor and looped around a supporting pillar and also locked.    Liz's was the same.

He stood in front of us, just looking for a moment.  Obviously enjoying the sights of our skin tight shorts and bulging T's.   Finally, he spoke.  "Here's the deal.  I've dreamed for years about having a bondage girl, but I never found one who wanted to play the game, including my ex-wife.  Thanks to circumstances, I now have two of them.  You."

"I'll be back down after while.  While I'm gone, I want you to remove all your clothes and pile them right here."

As the words started sinking in, I looked over at Liz.  I expected the explosion to come any second now.  He continued.   "Not only do I have a pair of slaves, but it isn't a game.  This is real.   You're going to be trained to do what I want, when I want and how I want."  He hesitated, then said, "Anything I want."

Suddenly, he turned around and quickly went up the stairs, leaving us still speechless.   Well, for a short time, that is.   Liz found her voice immediately.   "Come back here and take these chains off, you son-of-a-bitch!"    Futilely pulling on her chain, she began to shout one threat after another.  "You cock sucker!  You can fuck yourself in hell before you get to use me!"  And more of the same.   It only took me a few seconds of inspection to realize that we weren't going to get loose by yanking and pulling on our chain.  We were here until someone removed the locks.   Surely he wasn't going to just leave us with the heavy links around our necks.

Liz finally wound down, more from exhaustion than any sense of acceptance of our situation.   Now she was just cursing quietly to herself and making threats of a most unlikely nature for a girl who was chained by the neck.

In an hour or so, we saw the young man coming back down the stairs holding a plate with sandwiches.   I saw Liz beginning to build up a head of steam.   Out came the threats again.   "Look, you bastard!   I want this chain off right now or I'll have your ass in jail for kidnapping before the sun comes up."   I wondered if she knew just how ridiculous she sounded.

For the first time, I spoke up.  'Mister.  We owe you for getting us out of that jam with the two guys and both of us will be happy to fuck you any way you want, but please let us loose."

He just smiled, obviously enjoying the situation very much.  "Why didn't you take your clothes off like I ordered?"  A very pleasant tone, like he was asking about the color of our shoes. 

"Goddam you bastard nobody is getting fucked until you take these chains off right now you son-of-a-bitch!"   She was now in the far stages of wild eyed apoplexy. 

He held out the plate.  "Are you hungry?  Have a sandwich."

Liz grabbed the plate and slung it against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces and leaving parts of bread and meat laying on the concrete floor.   I was about to try to calm her down before she made him mad, for real, when he suddenly turned and headed back up the stairs.   His parting comment was, "Have a good night.  See you tomorrow."

Once again, I waited for my girlfriend to wind down, then began to try to get her to see the real situation.  "Elizabeth!   You have to calm down before you get us both beaten to a pulp."   

That started her off again.  "That goddam son of a bitch can..." 

I grabbed her shoulders and shook her.   "No!  Stop talking and listen.   You're acting like a spoiled little girl.   You're making threats that have no meaning."   She relaxed a bit, and I let go of her.  "The fact is that we are two girls chained in an underground room.  Nobody knows where we are.  Nobody even knows we left town last week."  I lifted a section of my heavy chain.  "You see this?  It would hold an elephant.  We aren't going to break it.  Hell, you and I couldn't get loose if we had a saw."   I looked up the stairwell and saw that the door was still closed.  "He wants to play with a pair of slave girls.   Ok, so we act the part.  At least until we get these off our necks.  Then, after we've squeezed his nuts dry and he's collapsed for the night, we can haul ass out of here."

She finally nodded agreement, sort of.  "Ok.  I'll play along.  But, I'm not taking my clothes off until he removes this chain."

Finally, the talk of what we would do wound down, and we started looking at the practical aspects of our temporary confinement.   It turned out to be one of the worst nights I have ever had.   By now it was now late and we were exhausted.  But, instead of a bed, we had acres of bare concrete floor and without even a piece of rug to sit or lay on.    We couldn't  stand up all night, but laying down on the hard floor wasn't an option - and not because it wasn't soft.   The room wasn't cold - in fact, it was at a very pleasant temperature, but we soon discovered that our thin summer clothes gave no protection while laying down on the  cool concrete floor.  In just minutes we would be shivering from the chill.   We got very little sleep as we alternated between sitting and standing.

Hunger set in and we rescued as much of the sandwiches as we could find.  I thought I would never eat anything that had fallen on the floor, but as the memory of lunch - our last meal - receded into the past, I managed to get past my distaste of fallen food.

Then, suddenly, there was the little problem of the bathroom.  Or lack of it.  The plastic bucket was a poor and embarrassing substitute for even the public restrooms we were used to using.   And there was no toilet paper - something that all women have to have above all else.

Above all else, a minor discomfort began to arise.   Then it turned into real suffering.   Finally, it caused us to desperately hope for the return of the man that a few hours ago we hoped to never see again.

We had no drinking water.

---------------

Late Morning

By the time my watch indicated morning, we were a sad pair of sore, tired and thirsty cunts.  Hoping that he was going to come back down soon, I reminded her to keep her temper, like a good slave girl.    She didn't appreciate the joke.  By now we were dying of thirst.  Well, not actually, but I couldn't ever remember being so thirsty and it wasn't a pleasant feeling.

Eventually, we heard the sound of the door, and saw him descend the stairs.  God!  Finally.

As he walked up to us, I couldn't wait.  "Mister, can we have some water?"

He looked us up and down. "Why haven't you taken your clothes off like I ordered.  Are you trying to be difficult?"

The short fuse of Liz's temper went off again.  "We aren't doing anything 'till you take the goddamn chains off our necks!"

He nodded acceptance, spun around and headed back up the stairs.  Shit! No!  I started begging in a shout.  "Please, Mister!  Come back!  We'll do what you want!"  When he disappeared, I turned on my friend with a vengeance.  "Goddammit Liz!  I'm not going to die of thirst because of your fucking temper!"  She began to realize that she had just condemned us to several more hours of dehydration. 

"I'm not going to..."  She started, then broke off as I grabbed her arm.

"Yes you are," I interrupted, leaving her with no doubt that I was pissed - royally.  "When he comes back, we're both going to be as naked as jaybirds.  Whatever he wants, we do.  Understand?"  Without waiting for a response, I kept going.  "If the price of a glass of water is for you or me to stick a corncob up our ass, then the other person is going to help shove it in."   I began to pull my T-shirt over my head.   It wouldn't come free because of the chain leading through the neck, but I pushed down the length till it hit the floor.   Then my shorts.  That was all I was wearing, other than sandals.  Naked as Eve, I looked at Liz until she started undressing.  Now if the man would just come back.  With some water, please!

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Late Evening

The night had been bad, but the day was horrible.  I have never experienced thirst like that.  An all consuming thirst that overrode all other considerations.  By evening, if the man wanted me to kill someone, I would agree to it instantly.  Just give me a glass of water.  Even a cupful.  I had long since made the decision that if Liz lost it again when the guy appeared, I would clobber her as hard as I could hit. 

Finally!  We heard the door open and jumped up from where we had been sitting on our clothes.  Interestingly, I realized later that we both had automatically assumed the normal position of a naked woman in the presence of a stranger.  That is, we both tried to cover our pussies and breasts.  Since we only had two hands each, and both of us were well endowed, it was a futile gesture. 

Together, in a chorus, we both begged, "Water please, Mister."

This time when he spoke, the phony friendliness was gone.  His tone plainly indicated that he would brook no more nonsense from a pair of helpless broads.  "Kneel, both of you.  You can put your clothes under your knees if you want."  We did.  "Lean forward and put your hands behind you."  Shortly, I felt some cold metal on my wrists and then realized that my hands were now bound behind me.  That realization wasn't important at the moment.  What was, was the pitcher of water that he now retrieved from behind us.  He poured a glass full, then stepped in front of Liz.  She couldn't take her eyes off the glass.  Neither could I.

Stooping down in front of her, he said.  "Your name is now Thistle.  Understand?"  She nodded vigorously, not taking her eyes off the glass.  "Say it.  'This girl is called Thistle.'"

Around her swollen tongue, she whispered, "This girl is called Thistle."  He held the glass up to her lips and she frantically gulped down the precious liquid. 

Then it was my turn.  "You are Thimble."

I nodded and croaked, "This girl is called Thimble."  God, please give me the water.  He did.  No cola, no fancy mixed drink, nothing in my past tasted as good as that glass of water at that moment.   Then, piece by piece he fed us by hand from a plate of rolls and some kind of lunch meat.  Then more water - all we could drink.  I almost felt myself expanding like a desert flower after a long dry summer.  By now we felt much better, that is, if you don't count the fact that we were kneeling naked, chained and manacled in front of a strange man.  But he didn't give us much time to reflect on our status.

Standing in front of us, he brandished a small whip.  Uh-oh, I thought.  Pain was never my thing.  "I'm going to lay down a rule.  It's very simple.  You obey me instantly in everything I say, at all times.  Break that rule and you will regret it.  This little stinger is only one of many that I have, and believe me, with some of them you would rather die than be put under their leather.  He walked behind us, no doubt looking at his prized female flesh.  Suddenly, I heard a 'Whack" and Liz screamed.  She would have fallen forward on her face except for the fact that he was now holding onto her pony tail until she got over her shock.

"Whack!"  This time it was my scream.  God, it hurt!  I may have screamed some plea, but don't remember. 

"Thank me for the discipline example," he demanded.  Both of us were in a state of semi-shock and said nothing.  That was a mistake, since we got another lash, even harder than the last.

That woke us up.  We both screamed "Thank you Sir.  Thank you."

"Master.  You call me Master."

"Thank you, Master," we parroted.

"Stay on your knees.  Don't move until I tell you."  We couldn't see what he was doing, but for a couple of hours he went up and down the stairs.  The couple of times that I dared to glance out of the corner of my eyes, he was carrying stuff upstairs.   Finally, he came back over to us with a couple of blankets, some bread and a large bowl of water. 

He spread out the blankets and pointed.  "That's your bed for tonight."

As he turned to go, Liz asked, "Can you take these handcuffs off?  We...  EEEEEE!"   He whacked one of her breasts with his little whip.  Not a stroke to bring blood, but I could tell that it hurt, badly. 

"The proper form is, 'Master, may a girl ask a question?'  Slavegirls will not use the first person when talking about themselves.   Forget the pronouns, I and me.  Those are only for people of significance, not a pair of worthless cunts."

Liz hesitated, then tried again.  "Master, may this girl ask a question?"

"What?"

"Will you..."  She flinched when the man raised his whip.  "Will the Master take these handcuffs off?"

"No."  With that he went back up the stairs.

We just stayed in our kneeling position for a few minutes, kind of frozen with the shock of what was happening to us.   During some of my sexual activities in the past, I had acted out the part of the helpless female to the big dominate male, but the reality of this situation was far beyond anything I imagined during play.   This guy wasn't acting - he had no compunction about punishing us if he wanted to.  The lashes we got weren't meant as sexual play - they were meant to hurt.

We quietly talked for an hour, but soon wanted to lay down and get some of the sleep that we didn't manage last night.  With our hands manacled behind us, it took some doing to get the cover blanket over us, but with the use of our feet, we managed.  We didn't try to eat the bread - sleep was wanted more than food.  Of course, we hadn't any more settled in than we realized that we both had to pee.  Once again, we had to suffer the embarrassment of  half squatting over a five gallon bucket and trying to keep the stream inside the rim.  And the problem of not only not having toilet paper, but now not even being able to wipe the remaining drops off with our hand.  Shaking a twat doesn't work worth a shit - men have it good in that respect. 

At least he had emptied the bucket before he left us.

---------------

The following days

Our pallet wasn't exactly a feather bed, but with the overwhelming events of the day, and the exhaustive night before that, we slept like babies.  The next morning, to our joy, he released our hands.  Unfortunately, he immediately re-manacled them together in front.  Then, with a short chain, he attached them to the chain around our necks.  Now we could use our hands somewhat, but we could not reach below our belly button.   That was the way we spent the next several days and nights - during the day, sitting on our sleeping palette with our hands bound in front of us and at night, sleeping with them manacled behind our backs.

We surreptitiously watched as he proceeded to clean out the room down to the bare concrete, then began to bring weird furniture back down.  What really confused us, was that he hadn't touched us yet in any erotic way.  Was he gay?  If so, what good were a pair of girls to him?  If he was straight, he had more discipline than any male I ever met.  All other men in my experience would be all over two naked cunts who were helpless to resist.

In a week or so, a change was made.  He removed the heavy chain from our necks, then each of us got a locked metal collar in its place.  Much lighter chains were then attached to the back of the collars and locked on.  These were much longer.  Much.  In fact, they looked to be almost as long as the entire basement and were attached - actually welded - to a huge bolt in the floor at one end of the long room.  But, we didn't have free reign to roam around, even if we had dared to.  The chain was doubled back with another lock so that our range of motion was about twenty feet.

At the same end of the room as the end of the chain, he installed two beds.  Well, they were for us to sleep on, but were nothing like anything that you would buy in a furniture shop.  About Queen sized, they had a wood frame under a thin mattress.  I didn't know why at the time he set them up, but the outside frame of the platform had a dozen or more metal rings attached.  These ersatz beds were much more comfortable to sleep on than the thin blanket that had been our bed up to now.  As the days wore on, we realized that, unless a miracle happened, we were destined to sleep down here for the foreseeable future.

One thing that didn't improve, was our sanitary arrangements.  We still used the plastic bucket and by now our asses were... well, disgusting doesn't even come close.  In addition, Liz had started her period and now had dried blood trailing down her legs.   

---------------

Our usage begins

"What do the slavegirls think," he asked, gesturing at the length of the basement and all the strange furniture that he had installed.   We didn't know how to reply, although we had learned by now that silence wasn't an option when asked a question.  What we wanted, was to be able to reach the bathroom that we knew was about two thirds the way to the far wall.  We hadn't seen it yet, but the sounds clearly indicated what it was.

"This girl would like to use the bathroom and clean up, Master," I replied, somewhat timidly.  So far he hadn't been cruel, although his little whip - stinger, he called it - would immediately whack our behinds if he thought we were disobeying in some way.

"Excellent," he answered with satisfaction.  "I'm glad that a slavegirl realizes that she always needs to be immaculately clean for her Master.  That's a great suggestion.  I'm proud of you."  

I didn't like the way this was going.  He was obviously toying with us.  Suddenly, he reached down, grabbed my chain a few feet from my neck, then pulled me over to a corner of the room.  He then remanacled my hands behind me.  In the very corner, at the actual joint where the two walls came together, he had drilled and installed a bolt with a circular hole, at the level of my neck.  He backed me up to the corner, reached around and somehow fastened my collar to the bolt.  I was so close to the corner that I had to stand very still and very straight or my shoulders or buttocks would touch the wall.  When that happened, I jumped.  The bare white concrete was cold!  Then he put a blindfold over my eyes.  My adrenaline was pumping.  I didn't know what was happening, but I would lay lots of money that I didn't have that our days of celibacy were over.

Next, I heard a chain dragging across the floor.  Liz was obviously being taken somewhere, next.  That was followed by several minutes of unknown sounds, accompanied by a couple of cries and moans.   What was he doing to her?  Liz wasn't a virgin - and hadn't been since her nipples began to stick out, so ordinary, or even rough sex wasn't unknown to her.  Eventually, I heard a long series of "Ohhhhhh's" and a plaintive, "Please, Master.  I have to shit!"   What the hell?  After that was just an occasional "Ummmmmph" or "Ommmmm."

Suddenly, in surprise, I jumped, let out an exclamation of some kind, then recoiled from the cold wall.  He had quietly walked up to me and grabbed both of my titties.  It was the first time he had touched me in a sexual way.  That confirmed my theory that his nuts had probably waited as long as they were going to.   He gently pinched and pulled and bobbled for a few minutes as I tried not to let my body lean backwards.  It wasn't unpleasant - he wasn't trying to cause pain.  It was just the first time that any man had played with my pair without my permission.

He didn't bother my pussy.  I suspect that it was because of the disgusting condition of that end of my body that kept his hands from roaming up and down my crack.

Almost a half hour went by - I guess - then I heard more chain clinking on the floor, followed by far-away indistinct speech.  Eventually, I heard faint footsteps coming toward me and braced myself for some more titty bobbing.  But, instead, he removed the blindfold and released me from the corner of the wall.  I couldn't see Liz anywhere.  Assuming that his letting her leave was probably an over optimistic assumption, I guessed she was in the bathroom. 

He towed me to a large bed like platform, unlocked my hands and said, "On your hands and knees."   I climbed on the pad covering the King-sized platform and got in the doggy position.  God, was he going to do me with my other end stinking like a sewer?  As it turned out, not yet.  He spread my legs, then locked them into a spreader bar almost wider than my legs would go.  "Lay your head on the mattress and reach under your body with your hands."  As soon as they were extended under me, I felt each one of them pulled, then locked into another hole in the spreader bar.   The bar was nothing but a set of stocks, but made of metal rather than wood.  Let me explain that I am using descriptions that I only learned the name of much later in my confinement.  All I knew at the present, was that the device had my crack spread wide open and my body doubled up with my hands in the  same plane as my ankles.  Once again, the perfect doggie position for being fucked in the rear. 

I waited for the inevitable.  Little did I expect what was to happen next.  What happened, was that my pony tail was pulled to get my face off of the mattress.  Then a rubber ball was jammed into my surprised mouth and held in place with straps around my head.  A gag!  So that was why I couldn't understand what Liz was trying to say.

Now the surprises really started.  Suddenly, I felt something being pushed up my asshole.  What the fuck?  I realized that it wasn't his dick, but what was it?  Of course, as soon as it - whatever 'it' was - passed the sphincter, it was sucked in and most of the discomfort went away.  For a minute, anyway.  Now, I realized that the thing was expanding in my rectum.  Really expanding!  Getting really, really big!!  What the fuck was this weirdo trying to do?

A minute or so revealed the answer.  I felt the liquid entering my bowels.  An enema!  I had had them in the past.  Not really a turn on for me, but one really weird boyfriend liked to...  

I was really getting full, I thought. Actually, he had just started.  The cramps started up.  Fortunately, I knew enough from past experiences to wiggle my behind back and forth to slosh the liquid around and make the pain subside.  It worked, but the liquid kept coming.  More wiggling, then more liquid.  Now my movements weren't helping.  Just like Liz, I started with the "Ummmmph's" and the "Aaaaaaaphs" which I hoped he could translate into desperate pleas to stop and let me shit!   In a while, my belly felt like it was twice its normal size and I was in major discomfort.  All he did in response to my pleas, was to reach under me and twiddle with my titties. 

Finally, I felt him release my hands, but he immediately pulled them behind my back and remanacled them.  Then he removed the stocks from my ankles, rolled me over and attached my ankles high up on the poles at the lower corner of the bed - the rack, I later learned it was called.  I knew now, that my history of virginity in this underground dungeon was about to come to an end.

Sure enough, he stepped up, wetted his dick and slowly inserted it into my twat.   My turn in the barrel obviously took longer than Liz's, since he had already emptied his nuts a half hour before.  Nonetheless, he was a young man in an unbelievably - for him - erotic setting and he had no problem in shortly filling my hole with his cream.  For my part, the movements of a man hammering on my full bowels was less than pleasurable. 

Finally, after he recovered, he released me, manacled my hands in the usual frontal position, and pulled me down to the bathroom.  Liz was in the shower, which was off but she wasn't leaving, since her chain was attached to another bolt in the shower wall.  He steered me to the commode, squatted me over it, and turned a valve which released the air in the expanded bladder inside of my rectum.  It blew out immediately, along with a volcanic blast of dirty water. 

Normally, shitting in front of another person was unthinkable, but at the moment, I would have gladly squatted in front of a television audience. Anything to get all of that liquid out of my rear end.  While I was sitting there, he released Liz and took her off somewhere.   In fifteen minutes or so, he came back, turned on the shower and locked my collar to the same bolt that had held Liz.  Then he proceeded to bathe me.  It was thorough.  His hands missed nothing, from my hair to my feet and with lots of attention to my boobs and crack - front to back, including inside and out.  That included using a razor all over.  Liz and I had always shaved our privates, but by now the stubble was coming back badly.  He took care of that.

Finally, he turned off the water, handed me a toothbrush and a small tube of paste, and left.  

---------------

Discipline

We sat on our beds, talking quietly and watching him work about halfway down the basement.  We had no idea what he was building - it just looked like two round poles set into the floor.  But we both agreed that the work was for our benefit. 

"How the hell are we going to get out of this?" whispered Liz. 

I was watching him as he clanked around with metal and tools.  I looked over at her.   "Until we get these collars off, we aren't going anywhere.  And since there is no way in hell that we're going to pry them open, then he has to."  The poles were set vertically and were very tall - about eight feet.    They looked to be about six feet apart.  What the heck were they?  "Ok, here's the deal.  We're going to play the part of nice little slave girls.  Anything he wants, he gets.  Every guy dreams about being done over by two girls."

She shrugged.  "We've done it before."

"Exactly.  He needs to be convinced that we're his natural slaves.  He's such a dominate stud that we would never even think of leaving him.  We love being used by him.  Eventually, he'll take the collars off and let us run around.  Then we start looking for a way out of here.  Even if only one of us gets out, she can get the cops out here to rescue the other."

Thinking back on that conversation, I can smile and chuckle now.  It was as if a couple of kittens were planning to smooze over the mean dog next door so that they could eat out of his dish.

That night, or it might have been the next, he came over to us, put us both in blindfold masks and pulled us across the room.  I stood there listening to him doing something with Liz, then suddenly he took my arm, strapped some kind of leather cuff on it, and raised it above my head.  Suddenly, it was attached to something - I couldn't pull it back down.  Then the other arm.  Next, he kneed my legs apart and attached my ankles the same way - obviously to the two posts that we had watched him install.  I had been trussed up in a big female X at full stretch.  My heels were almost, but not quite leaving the floor.

I realized that my front was leaning against something warm.  It was Liz, strapped up the same way and facing me.  What the hell was this?  Suddenly, I felt his hand moving up and down my body.  Mostly down, and then in.  He fingered me well and, I assumed, Liz also. 

Then, he spoke. "The girls will remember the first night, when I promised you a lesson in the discipline that you will receive any time you fail to follow my commands in any slightest detail. 

"Yes, Master," was Liz's answer.

I didn't like what I thought was coming and said, "Yes, Master.  The girls will be good.  They will do anything you say."

"Excellent," he said in a jovial tone.  "But, it might be well to give a small demonstration as to what a naughty girl might expect.  And you, Thistle.  You might remember a certain temper tantrum where you broke one of my plates?"

"Yes, Master.  This girl is very sorry for that.  She will gladly make it up to you in any way you want."  Liz suddenly didn't care for the direction the conversation was going, either.

"That's the spirit.  But I think that a girl might remember the lesson better if she were to ask for five strokes of the whip."

"No, Master.  Please," she whimpered.

His tone changed.  "Well, maybe a girl isn't sorry.  Maybe she should get ten strokes for lying about her feelings."

I didn't say anything, but I hoped that Liz would stop digging the hole before it got large enough for both of us.

Very quietly, she replied.  "This girl should get five strokes of the whip to help her remember to be good."

We heard him walk away, probably to the the whip.  I cringed as I waited for what was coming.  I realized that he wasn't an amateur at dominance.  Being blindfolded made the exercise far more mentally tough.  We couldn't tell if he had left or was lining up a stroke on our backs.

Nothing happened.  We just hung there for a long time, not daring to speak to each other.  I could feel her tits and stomach pressed into mine - we were that close, but with no knowledge as to his whereabouts, I firmly kept my mouth shut.   Our position was tiresome, but not painful.  We were at full stretch but not suspended at all.  I imagined what we looked like.  No doubt a dominate male's dream with two cunts rubbing tits and pussy together.

WHACK! I heard the sound and hadn't quite registered what it was, when Liz screamed bloody murder.  It was just dawning on me that she had received a stroke of a lash, when another Whack sounded and the nerves in my back transferred the information to my brain.  It was the worst pain that I had ever experienced to that date.  It felt like a strip of fire across my skin.  I screamed right back at Liz.  And it didn't stop.  At intervals just long enough for our nervous system to be able to accept the next strip of pain, the whip laid into us alternately.  We thrashed and screamed and shouted and pleaded for it to stop, with offers to fuck anything and anybody, to suck anything that he had, to lick any part of him.  Finally, we were just babbling nonsense - anything for the hope that something would stop the punishment.

It finally did stop, and through my red haze of pain, I realized that he was feeling us up again.  In a few minutes, I heard him say to Liz, "This is for the plate that you broke.  The strokes started up again, but this time I was spared.  By now, Liz was hoarse and more air was coming out of her mouth than sound. 

Eventually, that stopped also and we just hung there for an indefinite time.  Incongruously, I thought about the joke of the man who would hit himself on the head with a hammer because it felt so good when he stopped.   I was feeling wonderful now, hanging naked next to my friend and, no doubt with red stripes across my back and butt.  But, the fact that I wasn't being whipped was wonderful.   The human mind is a strange entity.

But the night wasn't quite over.  Suddenly, I felt a finger on my asshole, rubbing, teasing and barely probing.  Then, I felt an object pushing against it.  I suddenly realized that my rear hole was going to be the next recipient of the Master's - I mean, the guy's rod.  He reached around and took both of my boobs as handles, steadily shoved it up my hole, and began to pump.  He wasn't rough, or deliberately brutal, but I have never enjoyed being penetrated in my behind.  I've had it done numerous times before, but it wasn't my thing.  Now is a different story.  Since that night, my butt has played host to my Master's dick more times than I can count.  The muscles have long since trained themselves to relax and prepare to be opened, any time my little hole feels pressure from the outside.

Finally, he unloaded and left us hanging there inside of our painful skin for a long time.

That night, we inspected each other and found that, while we were sporting an impressive array of red stripes, there were no blood blisters or cut skin.  He had made sure that his new toys weren't damaged in any way.  That was at least, slightly encouraging.

---------------

Training Slaves

After our episode of punishment, our attitude changed dramatically.  Not toward the guy, but in front of him.  We would still have willingly stabbed him to escape.  But, since two chains, that would have held tons of pressure, prevented that, anything he wanted, we wanted also.  As to our plans to coerce him into removing our collars, they were foiled also.

A few days later, he unlocked the slack keeper lock in our chains, and called us over to the other end of the basement.  After the session with the whip, our hands were unfettered - a welcome improvement over sleeping with them behind us or not being able to reach much below our tits during the day.

This end of the basement had a small kitchen, a 'fridge and a pantry.  So far we had not been allowed, or even able to approach this area.  It also had a few items that were unknown to ourselves.

He put our blindfolds on - actually, they were just ladies' sleep masks.  Easy on and easy off.  He pulled me over a few feet.  "Kneel down."  I did and felt a pad under my knees.  He pushed my head forward until it rested on a wooden bench.  Now I was getting scared.  "Please, Master.  Don't hurt m... Thimble," I whimpered.

"Relax.  This isn't a punishment," he answered, to my relief.   I felt him fiddle with some kind of stiff material that he pushed under my collar at the back of my neck.  Then some clanking of the chain and a little tugging on my collar.  I couldn't imagine what was happening.   Then, "Hold still."  I heard a short 'zzzziiiiittttt' and after a couple of minutes, he pulled me to my feet. 

Pulling me aside, he apparently performed the same procedure on Liz. 

Afterward, he folded our chains and relocked them so that our slack still only let us roam over about a third of our end of the room.  Still not enough to reach the bathroom.  We were still using the bucket, but by now most of the embarrassment was gone.  If either of us needed to pee, we squatted and did our business, unnoticed by the other girl.  We still had no toilet paper, but he bathed us ever day.  Obviously, he enjoyed the chance to feel and prod, since our showers usually went on long after we were clean.  The fact that he gave both of us an enema every three days meant that our bucket now only contained pee.

As he disappeared up the stairs, we started our conversation again.  "What did he do?" Liz asked.  "Here.  Bend your neck over."  I felt her hands on my chain and collar.  "Hell, I don't see anything...  Oh my God!"

"What is it?" I demanded, alarmed.  Looking up at her face, I could see that she was in massive distress.  What the hell...?   "Let me look at yours." She bent her neck, by now almost crying.  What??  I didn't see anything but her collar and the chain that was conn...   "Oh my God," I parroted.  The realization of what I was seeing crashed down on me.  Along with our 'plans' of escape.

The lock that connected the end of the chain to the eye loop in our collar had been replaced with just a plain link. But it had been broken, inserted through the collar hole and the end of the chain and WELDED SHUT.  We were never leaving here unless he wanted us to.  From the end of the chain, where it was attached to the bolt in the floor, to our collars, it was a continuous un-unattachable link.  There was nothing to fail, be picked, or fall open.  Well, except for the locks that made or released the slack.  But, removing those, even assuming that we could, would only gain us a few more feet of freedom.

I flopped down on my bed in a sudden and massive depression - one that was mirroring my partner's.

---------------

The Toys

We were the playthings of a grown little boy.  Everyday, after work, whatever it was that he did - and from the size of the house and his apparently well off status, his job had to be very lucrative.  Anyway, when he wasn't working, he was playing with his toys - us.  And sometimes, just altering and fitting us to new 'furniture'.   At other times, just rutting and wanting some tail. 

We were now fitted with permanently attached ankle and wrist bracelets. Each with a convenient eye in which to attach a lock or connector or just to attach all our limbs together.  One day, I displeased my Master - yes, we were beginning to actually think of him as that - and he connected both ankles and wrists all together with a small plastic tie through the holes.  It may not sound like much punishment to someone who hasn't tried it, but believe me, doubled up like that for a couple of hours is one of the most cruel and unusual punishments that I have experienced.  The whip was worse, but it was over in just seconds or minutes.  But, sitting there in the unnatural position, your muscles began to object after a short while, after which they really start complaining.   Not too long after, the owner of said muscles is begging for release.

On this day, my condition for release was to tongue his asshole.  After several hours of the passive torture, I would have willingly eaten his shit if only he would release my limbs.

Our night time sleeping arrangements had changed to be more convenient.  For him, not for us.  He had been playing around with bungee cords for several days.  We had been stretched out in various positions and on different pieces of furniture.  Today, he had Liz... Thistle...  I had to remind myself that her name had changed.  I didn't want to call her by her old name for a good reason that I will tell about shortly. 

Anyway, Thistle was laying on her bed, spread eagled with legs spread, and arms out to her side.  Just like a little girl about to make a snow Angel.  Bungees were attached to all four limbs to keep them spread and stretched, and one led from the ring on the back of her collar to the head of her bed. 

"Sit up," he order.  She struggled to try to bend up to a sitting position, but got only about halfway before the cords pulled her back flat.  He removed the cord going to her neck and replaced it with a longer one, attaching it to another ring bolt in the floor further back from her bed.  "Again."

This time she made it to a sitting position, but when ordered to lift up and squat over a flat bowl that was laying between her legs, her tired muscles gave up the struggle and the cords pulled her back flat.  I was wondering what this was all about, but soon found out.  Eventually, he had the proper length bungees in place that would keep us stretched out on our beds without any strain on our limbs, but with enough stretch to allow us to sit up, move our twats over the flat bowl and piss into it.  We had to do it quickly, because our muscles would begin to quiver with the strain and eventually would give up the struggle and the cords would pull us back flat.

That night, we realized that this was our new sleeping arrangement.  We would sleep on our backs from now on, widely spread, but with no strain on our limbs.  If we needed to pee during the night - and what woman doesn't - we could just manage it if we hurried.   The bowl had some scraps of cloth to prevent splashing and spillage, but still, it took several nights before we could lay back in a dry bed.  And we still had the problem that a woman can't shake the final drops off.

The bungees weren't locked on, but used a snap connecter that was so stiff that neither of us could activate it - assuming that we dared to.

All of this did nothing for us, other than being a giant pain in the ass, but for him - he loved it.  Many a night, at first, I woke up with a man either fingering me, playing with my tits, or entering my pussy in preparation for some heavy pounding.   Or woke up to see it happening to Li... Thistle. 

About this time, we started gag training.  He had dozens of them on the wall - ball, holey ball, ring, bar - you name it.  We started with one locked on for about thirty minutes.  That was bad enough.  At the end of the half hour my jaws were screaming at me.  They were still sore the next morning.  We wore one a little longer each day.  And, like anything else, our jaw muscles got used to being held open for long periods of time.  Eventually, we could retain one all day long without major distress - although I am not claiming that the act was in any way pleasurable.  For one thing, we would start drooling almost immediately and it would drip down between our breasts, then accumulate and finally reach the top of our crack before either trailing down our legs or dripping onto whatever we were standing on.

---------------

Fun and games

We had been blindfolded again, and led down the floor.  In horror, I realized that we were being trussed up between the whipping posts again.   What had we done?  So far, he never inflicted pain on us unless we were accused of something, but as my mind furiously raced to try to figure out what we had done, it came up with nothing.

"Have the slavegirls forgotten that I renamed them when they were first brought here?"

Our frantic, "No Master"s, were in unison.

"So, the slavegirls don't like their new names?"

"No, Master.  Yes, Master.  We like them Master."   There was a babble of speech as we tried to come up with a satisfactory answer.

"Then the cunts are lying to the Master, apparently.  The slaves either don't like them or have forgotten that they were renamed."

Suddenly, we heard a click and then our voices, tinnily sounding though a speaker of some kind. It had to be a portable tape recorder.  It was a conversation from the night before.  He had recorded it somehow.  In it we plainly called ourselves by our real names.  At that moment, I knew we were doomed.

"What do the slavegirls have to say for themselves?"

Now the babbling really started, as we apologized and promised to never, ever use those names again, and please let these stupid girls make it up to the Master and just give us a chance to...   That was as far as we got.

He put the leather to us well.  Even more than the first night.  Our screams rang out loudly, at first, then tapered off to a much lower volume as we thrashed in our stretched out bonds and our voices tired and just squeaked out pleas.  

Never again did we use our old names.  From then on, she was Thistle and I was Thimble - even when we were whispering to each other in the night.

The next day, we watched in puzzlement as he began to build a new item, this time with a pipe that led down the wall toward the bathroom.  It was a banana shaped plastic bowl, attached to a vertical tube.  Realization began to dawn, when both of us were told to stand over it, straight legged and with feet spread. 

A female urinal.  Well, it was better than the bucket, but why not just let us go to the bathroom?  That question had an answer - unfortunately, it wasn't a good one.  He pointed to Thistle.  "Now stand over it and piss."

She straddled the new contraption, reached down and spread her lips, and... nothing.  I could see her straining, but nothing came out.  I knew exactly what the problem was - pee shyness.  Many people can't go if someone is watching, or nearby. 

"Well," he said, watching her cunt.

"I can't, Master!" she wailed, in her distress forgetting that she had just used the forbidden 'I' pronoun. 

I was surprised when he didn't get angry, or punish her.  He just moved away and began to fiddle with something until he heard her get the stream going.  Then he casually walked back to her as she finished up.  "From now on, both girls will request permission to pee if the Master is down here.  It will become natural soon enough."

"Now, step over here and keep the legs spread."  He crooked a finger at me.  I quickly moved up to him.  "Thistle will now clean the slavegirl with her tongue."

I blinked, not believing what I was hearing.  Then, I frantically tried to figure out how to say no, to a man who didn't take no from any of his toys.  Neither of us were into the lesbian scene.  We hadn't even tried it.  And now, I was being told to lick the piss off of the pussy of my friend?  Without even realizing what I was doing, I shook my head with an emphatic No!

Seconds later, I was being dragged by my hair toward the whipping posts, screaming and begging for mercy.  I didn't get any.  This time I got at least twenty strokes and was left hanging for the rest of the day. 

Needless to say, that evening, when Thistle emptied her bladder into the banana bowl, then moved over to spread her legs in front of me, I immediately applied my tongue to her glistening lips.  And I kept cleaning until told to stop.  Then it was my turn.  I pissed, moved over in front of Thistle, and waited for her to clean me up.  She didn't even hesitate.

"From now on, anytime either girl pees, the other will clean her up."  I saw him thinking a minute, then, "If the girl is on her period, then she will perform her own wiping."  I hadn't thought of that aspect, but thank God for the exception.

That night, as we lay in our bed racks, spread, of course, we quietly talked of the days activities.  We knew, of course, that watching a woman piss was erotic to many men, and a lesbian act between them is eye candy to almost ALL men.  But we wondered just how far our Master was going to take his games.  "What do we do if he wants us to eat each others shit?" she asked. 

I could still feel the stripes on my back. "It depends.  Which would you rather do, eat it or get trussed up between the poles and then still have to eat it afterward?"

---------------

Chores

We were resigned to the fact that we were going to be made to perform lesbian acts on each other.  Other than the piss licking, it hadn't happen yet, but it was inevitable.  I would have bet any amount of money on it, if I had had any.  We were young and still had sexual needs, but we took care of them ourselves during times of the day that the Master wasn't around.  So far, we had developed no interest in doing each other.

Our next degradation was that, instead of the Master doing the enemas on us every three days or so, we had to start giving them to each other.  To this end, he gave us a little device that was just a single bladder that could be inserted into the rectum and pumped up with a little squeeze bulb.  The air hose was then unscrewed and a water hose attached.  After three or so quarts of liquid were received, the water hose would be detached and the inflated bladder on the inside of the asshole would keep it all inside.   To deflate it, a thin rod was stuck up the air hose connector.  The problem with this method was that, unless the girl on the receiving end could keep a tight lock on her ass muscles, the girl working the device could easily get sprayed with a load.  That is why we always did this in the shower.

After a few days of this procedure, any embarrassment of looking or touching another girl's privates, totally evaporated.

This little device was sometimes used for light punishment.  A girl would be filled up, the hoses removed and she would have to walk around for so many hours with a full set of bowels.  It wasn't fun. 

We were required to keep ourselves scrupulously clean, with twice daily showers and toothbrushing after every meal.  Laundry wasn't a problem, since we wore no clothes at all.  At first.  We had discussed, in private, the fear - actually, the certainty - that our breasts were going to start drooping big time.  Our bras that were in our luggage were long gone, we assumed, and there was little hope that he would get us any new ones, or allow us to wear them if he did.   We were wrong, sort of.

A few weeks after our enslavement, our Master came down with a curious piece of clothing.  It was just a big circle - think of a fabric hula-hoop - made of very soft cloth and about two inches wide.  He called it an oriental band bra - something that I had never heard of.  Anyway, it looped under one breast, then up and around the neck, then down to cradle the other one.  The one he brought down didn't fit either of us - it was too long - so he measured it to fit Thistle and left.  A while later he came back and tried it on her.  This time it fit better, but not perfect. 

I have to admit, that if I were a guy, the little piece of cloth would be quite a nut tightener.  It acted as a bra just fine, but let each breast move and bobble individually.  Plus, the whole front of the tittie was open, nipple and all, for his pleasure.   And it would come off with just a light pull.   It was quite a piece of erotic female apparel.  Of course, for a women out in the real world, it would be totally impractical.  Since the boobs were just cradled, and not captured as in a real bra, one might pop out during any sudden movement, and would always fall out if we bent over.  Obviously, for a pair of slave girls with nothing much to do, it was no worry at all.  But, we were glad for the chance to prevent boob-droop. 

The major problem was the color.  Naturally, since a man selected the cloth, he gave no consideration to accessorizing.  To him, white was fine.

"Master, may a girl make a request?"  That was me.  He nodded.  "If the Master will give us the cloth and needle and thread, his girls can make their own."  He said ok, that would be fine.  I risked another question.  "Could the Master get the cloth in some pretty colors?"

Sure enough, in a day or so, he delivered a little box with needles and thread, and a few pieces of brightly colored fabrics, the really heavy and soft stuff that towels are made from.  We happily went to work and in the next few days, each of us had several of the band bras made to fit. 

---------------

Time passes

The weeks rolled on.  Then turned into months.  The Master suddenly had a major shift in the use of his toys.  Originally, he was like a kid in a candy store.  He would use us as often as possible, and some times more often than possible.  He was a young man, with infinite access to pussy at any time, but even so, there is a limit to how often even the most virile and highly stimulated male can perform.  Many times, he just collapsed on top of one of us, unsatisfied. 

Then one day, it was like he made a decision, or flipped a switch.  His use of us changed from virtually all the time, to no more than once daily.  We assumed that he had made the conscious choice to slow down so as not to become surfeited with his ever present feast. 

He liked his woman hairless.  We had to shave every day, top to bottom, and woe unto the slavegirl who missed a spot.  Even a single hair in a crack, would get the offending girl strung up in a strappado tie till bedtime.  Then, one day, he brought in a machine - a professional electrolysis device.  That in itself told me that his income was above average.  I had had a friend who was in that business in a salon, and couldn't believe what her machine had cost her. 

Anyway, he gave us the book with directions and told us to start on each other.  It helped pass the time.

Speaking of which, it was a red letter day when he brought down a small television and VCR.  We couldn't get real broadcasts, but were allowed to watch one tape on most days.  Years later, he changed it out for a machine that would play movies on little shiny disks.  Finally, even more years later, we would just search for a movie on the TV and it would play from somewhere. 

None of the movies or serials or anything shown was later than the day that we were enslaved.  He was deliberately preventing us from knowing how the outside world was advancing. 

Back to the TV.  We had to be really good girls to be allowed to watch it.  In a way, we almost feared having our TV privileges revoked for weeks than we were of the whip.  Almost.  Other than talking, and later, enjoying each other in different ways, it was all we had to pass the time whenever our Master wasn't in the room. 

Speaking of enjoying each other.  As I have mentioned, neither of us had any lesbian tendencies at first.  The idea didn't disgust me or anything like that, but I just wasn't interested.  If I wanted sex, I wanted it to be with a penis being shoved in and out of me.  But, as with many straight men, lesbianism was fascinating to the Master.  He started making us perform for him.  At first it was just another chore we had to do, mechanical and monotonous, and had to be carried on until the groin pressures in the watching male made him separate us so he could stick his dick in a cunt.

Then, one memorable day, I was tonguing Thistle's clit and she suddenly stiffened, her legs straightened out with her toes pointed.  She let out a long AUUGGGGGGGG! and then thrashed and shuddered so hard that I had to back off.  Being young women, we had needs, but handled them ourselves at need with the finger on the clit routine.  But this one was a massive and deep orgasm that came up from somewhere.  I watched as the post orgasmic spasms caused her muscles to tremble and then knew that she wasn't faking it for the benefit of our watcher. 

Later, after he had gone, I asked her about it.  "I don't know.  It felt good.  Hell, anything that rubs my button always feels good.  But, this time it was just - fantastic.  Do you ever come close to blowing when I'm licking you?

I shook my head.  Half of an orgasm comes from the imagination, and the idea of Thistle licking my twat just has never excited me.  I am just too man-centric.  If she did it long enough, I was sure that I would come off - after all, her tongue just did exactly what my finger did.  I was confused, but I had an idea.

"Ok, how about this.  Neither of us does ourselves for the next week and we let the pressures rise.  Then, we'll try it with each other and see what happens.  At least it'll give us something else to do.

---------------

Fancy Furniture

Just because he had reduced his physical use of us, didn't mean that he was tired of his toy dolls.  He was always trying something new on us.  Of all the erotic furniture in the room, the one he called the horse got the most use.  It got its name from the sawhorse that carpenters use to cut or work on lumber.  Only, this one was much more sturdy and built to its special use - that is, holding down a female slave for usage.

A girl would be stood at one end and her legs would be spread, following the same form as the legs of the horse.  A snap clip on either leg of the wooden device would be connected to the ring on the girl's ankle.  That took care of having her legs spread and crack wide open.  Then she would be bent over the horse, lengthways, and lay on the top platform.  This was just a lightly padded board that went from her bent waist to just about her neck.  Two holes were strategically placed to allow her boobs to droop through.  This was obviously erotic to a man, since they would always get major action no matter what other part of her body was being used - or abused.

A strap at the waist and one over her back kept her bent over and flat.  Sometimes the arms were fastened behind her back and sometimes to a pair of snap clips on the front two legs.  Her head was either free, and perfectly situated for giving head, or sometimes her ponytail would be roped to keep her head bent back.  We hated when that was done.  It didn't take long for the unnatural position of a bent back neck to become really painful.

While on the horse, many things could be done with her.  She could be striped with a whip, although never as seriously as when put in the whipping bars.  The flat strap lash was for his benefit when used with the horse, not for actual punishment, although it stung, for sure.  The entire girl's crack was open and on display for use.  He could screw us in either hole, stuff a bladder in our asshole and fill us with water, or just leave us there for the day as eye candy.  Or make the other girl squat and do tongue work up and down.

Seldom used, but dreaded by us, was the inverted V spreader.  Or, the bull nettle bars as we called them in private.   This was very simple - just two thick metal bars welded in the shape of a V.  On the top, at the apex of the V, was a snap hook that would be put through the ring on the back of our neck collar.  That held the girl's head under and between the bars.    Halfway down the widening V, on either side, were two more hooks used to attach her wrist bracelets.  At the very bottom were a pair of hooks for the girl's ankles.   When in this spreader, the girl was sitting on a platform, bent over with her knees bent and legs spread as far as they would go, twat wide open.  Her arms were also held out to the side so as to not interfere with any display of her now depending tits.  Or manipulation of said hand candy.

By itself, the V spreader was just another binder, although one that got pretty oppressive in a half hour or so, since the girl's body was contorted in a folded up condition.  But, when in it, the cramps of muscles weren't what we were worrying about.  It was the sound of the blender that got us to sweating.  When it stopped, we knew that shortly our pussies would be on fire.

In this state, there is a native plant called a bull nettle.  Anyone who has wandered outside of the city on an outing knows of them, and to make sure that their legs didn't come in contact with the spines of the plant during a walk.  Merely brushing against the plant will cause an immediate reaction on the skin somewhat like a burn.  It only lasts for fifteen minutes or so, but it isn't pleasant.   The only alleged treatment is to immediately piss on the affected area.  For a man, with a conveniently aim-able tool, I guess it might work.  For a woman, the idea is laughable, so I can't vouch for the treatment.  

Anyway, he would bring in the leaves of some fresh bull nettles, put them in the blender and wind up with a white creamy liquid that was pure unadulterated inflammation.  Using a rubber glove, he would dip his hand in the bowl, then liberally apply the sticky cream to our pussy crack.  In seconds we would be screaming and thrashing in the spreader.  He only put it on our lips, never inside in the fear of causing damage of some kind.  Nonetheless, those fifteen minutes had us frantically trying to reach our cunts to do something - rub, cover, hold, who knows?

An interesting byproduct of the process was that, later, we both would be unbelievably horny.  I had heard of nettles being used for sexual arousal, but don't know why it has that effect.

Let me think.  God, over the years he had dozens of pieces of sexual furniture built - some a success, some a failure.  I can't describe them all, but one that got a lot of use was called the spread rack.  This was just a flat topped table about four feet square, and dick high on our Master.  A girl would be backed up to the table, then would lay back and a clamp swung across her neck to keep her in place.  There were two poles at the corners of the side she had backed up to and her legs would be lifted, spread and attached with snap hooks to the top of them.  Her wrists would be attached to the bottoms of the poles, and would be laying on the table.  On this, the girl was wide open - I mean as widely split and available as a woman can be made.  It wasn't uncomfortable and we could lay there for hours, usually falling asleep if something wasn't being done to her.   Obviously, both of her holes were available for easy penetration, or licking or just finger fucking.

I don't want to give the impression that our lives were one of fear and pain.  There was little fear as long as we didn't screw up and all of the pain was of a sexual play nature - again, assuming that we didn't make the Master need to punish us for real.   Much of what he did was fun for us also.  We didn't find out for years, that our Master was an electronics wizard.  In fact, it was the basis of his fortune - again, which we didn't find the size of until after a certain event.  

To start with, our favorite toy was the butterfly vibrator.

This was just an ordinary vibrator that can be bought at a sex shop, made for a woman and actually in the shape of a butterfly.  Two elastic bands around her legs and one around her body held it on, while a short stub of plastic stuck up her pussy to keep the device in place.  The actual vibrator was centered over her clit.  At first, the Master would use it manually, with one of us strapped wide open in a rack.  He would constantly vary the intensity depending on where he thought we were in our approach to to orgasm.  He got pretty good in reading us.   He would bring us almost to the edge of the orgasmic cliff, then turn it down to prevent us from falling off.  Then again.  Sometimes, an hour or two would go by as we rollercoastered up and down, many times straining to try to get that last little distance and some desperately needed relief.  But, eventually, he would slip up, or maybe tire of the play and turn the control to high,  and we would descend into a glorious muscle spasming climax.  

Later on, he built a device to automatically control the butterfly, based on bio feedback from sensors placed on our body, just as if we were taking a lie detector test, or a heart scan.  He hacked on it for years, and it worked better as time went along.  Depending on the state of our erotic needs, it could rollercoaster us up and down for hours before we could finally make ourselves blow off a good one.  Don't ask how it worked.  I have no clue.

The crack horse was a devilish piece of furniture built specifically for women.  Simply, it was just another sawhorse contraption, but instead of a flat platform on top, there was an upside down V made of wood in its place.  The top of the V wasn't sharp, but would fit up into a woman's crack, especially if her lips were spread by hand before she was placed on it, legs widely spread, hands usually bound behind her back.  This Vee bar could be raised and lowered a few inches by turning a couple of wheels.  The idea was to raise it until it put considerable pressure on her inside crack.  This would make her eventually raise herself on tiptoes to relieve the pressure, but of course, a person can only stay on them for a short time before the feet cramp and tire.  She would have to lower herself back down and the pressure pain would start up again.  We called it riding the horse because of the up and down movement of her body resembled that of riding on the back of a real animal, albeit in slow motion.

A platform - I don't remember what we named it, and it no longer exists - had a motion sensor attached some how.  A girl would be placed on it, legs free, but wrists hooked to widely spaced chains hanging from the overhead.  She would almost, but not quite be on tiptoe.  Any slightest movement would cause an air activated paddle to swing around onto her butt with a loud crack.  Usually followed by a scream.  Again, not punishment pain, but it still stung.  The girl would try to remain as motionless as possible, but the strain of the position would make her have to shift position or weight.  Done carefully enough, she might get away with it, otherwise, a loud whack would follow.

There were tie points everywhere for the convenient attachment of arms, legs and necks.  And a cage that would just barely hold the two of us - again, obviously for the visual satisfaction of a male to watch two naked women jammed together with limbs intwined.

There was a bed that would automatically stretch a girl out for sleep and release her in the morning, although that device didn't appear for years.

There were several devices to keep a girl stretched out in the big X, either vertical or horizontal, and even one that would rotate and turn her upside down.

Few days went by when we wouldn't be attached to something, between morning and evening.

Oh, yes. Since ours was such a sedentary, and therefore, unhealthy, lifestyle, one day he came downstairs with a gym-quality treadmill.  And with orders that we were to spend thirty minutes on it, each, every other day.  He set the program in it to a pretty good clip.  A couple of miles, up and down hills, fast and slow.   The first week, we thought we were going to die before our thirty minutes were up, but eventually, we could do the course and not even break into a sweat.  In fact, we usually just carried on a casual conversation with the other, who would be standing there watching. 

One other thing that wasn't exactly a piece of erotic furniture, was the sleep sack.  Honest, that is what it was labeled, right on the item.  I have no idea what it was really for - who the hell would sleep in a sack?  It was a, well, sack of very thick vinyl, untearable, and with draw strings in the end.  A person would probably have thought it was a big garbage bag, except that it would be one hell of an expensive bag to just throw away.

One day Thistle and I were arguing.  Even best friends have a few days like that.  I picked up a small cup of jello and flung it at her head.  Unfortunately, the Master saw it and punishment followed immediately.  I was trembling that my next stop was the whipping posts, but instead, he dragged me over to the horse and strapped me down.  Thistle, on his command, stuck a bladder up my ass and filled me to the top.  Then, warning me that if I let any leak out, I would have to lick it up, he removed the bladder.   Even though I was used to holding almost a gallon of water by now, I strained to hold it in. 

Then, in a surprise, he made me climb into this vinyl bag.  Once inside, he pulled on the drawstrings and the opening closed tightly around my neck.  My arms and legs were free to move around inside the sack, but I couldn't reach outside.  The bag was far too strong to break open, even if I dared try.  So there I sat, in a bag, head sticking out and wondering what the hell this was.  Of course, very shortly my bowels gave up the struggle and I blew out a gallon of water and shit into the bag.  I stayed in the bag all day.

Thistle was enjoying my situation.  She fed me lunch and dinner, but all day, she would bring me can after can of soda, far more than I wanted, but with my nose held closed, I would have no choice but to swallow.  It took a while to figure out why, but shortly my full bladder added to the mess I was sitting in.  And it kept getting full all day from the drinks.  By nightfall, I was sitting in several gallons of indescribable mess, even though, with the drawstring pulled, I could neither see nor smell it.

Finally, it was bed time and I could get out of the thing, take a shower and relax on my bed.  I looked properly chastened when the Master came over and began to untie the drawstrings.  He pulled the sack away from my neck and I prepared to step out, but to my horror, he pushed my head into the sack and pulled the drawstrings tight, leaving only an inch wide air hole.  "God, no, Master.  Please.  A girl will be good from now on.  Please, Master..."  On and on I pleaded.  It did no good and shortly I had something else to worry about.  The smell - the ungodly, dense and overpowering smell hit me like a train.  Up came my lunch.  And dinner.  And then just dry retching until my ribcage was so sore I could hardly breath in and out.

In short, that was a bad night.  Really, really bad.  When I was let out in the morning, and led to the shower, I was so weak that Thistle almost had to carry me.  Never again did I throw anything.

---------------

Mind games

We went through several mental phases from the time we were captured.  At first, we were just supplying sex to our captor until we escaped.  Then, as it became apparent that we weren't going to get away, it turned into depression.  Then resignation.  Acceptance followed.  Eventually, we began to forget our past lives and just live for the present. 

Some of that was trained into us.  I am no psychologist, despite my massive reading over the years, but after a person accepts that their life isn't going to change, they usually begin to look on the good side, if there is one.  For ourselves, we had no more money worries, or where we were going to spend the night, or the fear that, because of our lousy education, we would always be the first let go from a job.  Maybe that is just a slave trying to convince herself that she actually has it good, but...

In our first year, our Master drilled certain responses into us.  After a while they became natural and automatic.  He would be watching us, suddenly point and say a single phrase to us.  "Bobble 'em for me."  We would immediately remove our sling bra, if we had it on, then bend over at the waist and wiggle our boobs back an forth.  Or, he might command us to "Spread 'em and finger it."  We would have to face away from him, bend over while reaching around and spreading our ass cheeks for a few seconds.  Then we would have to reach under our crotch and insert a finger in our asshole.

There were many other commands.  To a free woman, these acts on demand would be unbelievably demeaning, but to us, after months and years became natural actions - actions that proved to us that there was nothing that couldn't be demanded by our owner.  If Thistle was commanded to lick my ass, she did it and thought nothing more about it.  I have read that a person can only be afraid of something for so long, after which the familiarity makes it, well, familiar.  The same is true with other emotions, such as disgust.  We would do things now, thinking nothing of it, that years ago would have caused us to cringe in revulsion.  When your whole world is eighty feet long and thirty feet wide, you learn to live in it.

After the first year of captivity, our Master quite naturally slowed down his activities with us.  That left us with more time to ourselves.  Since we weren't allowed books to read during the first ten years, the only activities we had were our single TV, and usually only one tape per day, or talking between ourselves.  We didn't even have a pack of cards.  The boredom finally led us to something we never considered before.

One day, a couple of years after our captivity started, we had been let loose from the Vee racks that had held us during the morning.  Our Master immediately left right after that, apparently for work, leaving us alone for the rest of the day.  As usual, for whatever weird reason, the bull nettle liquid had left both of us horny as toads.  Usually, we solved that problem in our own ways, by laying down for a solo masturbation session.  Today was different.  I walked over to Thistle's bed, where she was probably preparing to finger herself, and sat down beside her.  Looking her in the eyes, we both realized what was going to happen.  Shortly, we were laying side by side in a long French kiss.  We were a pair of clumsy newbie lesbians, but for the rest of the day we enjoyed each other.  Interestingly enough, neither of us came - at least not while we were engaged in physical contact that time.  It was just a long, slow, kiss-kiss, titty pull and finger session that was very satisfying.  Later, I rubbed myself off and fell asleep.  I assume she did also.

That's how it started.  To this day, I don't know if the cause was boredom, or the fact that we were made to perform on each other for a one man audience, or just because our girl partner was the only sexual contact we would ever have.  Well, besides the obvious, that is, but we never got off with our Master.   We filled in many a slow day after that with our tongues in the other's mouth - or crack, for that matter.

---------------

Excitement

It was an ordinary day, years after our coming to the basement.  The Master came down to put us to bed, we thought.  Right away, we could tell from his attitude that something was happening.  Then he really surprised us by the statement that we would be sleeping unbungeed tonight.  What on earth?  He gave us some really strange instructions and made us repeat them several times.  Then he took us over to a specific area and made us act out our parts.   By the time he left, were were beside ourselves with excitement.   In our dull little world, it was like an atom bomb.

Morning rolled around and we were up early, waiting.  Thistle was watching TV and I was absently probing around her leg with the electrolysis probe looking for an unlikely hair.  Suddenly, we heard the upper door open and immediately got to our feet.  We moved over to the previously designated area, and waited. 

Down the stairs came the Master and... a woman.  A very nice looking one, with real clothes and coiffed hair.  They moved over to us with the woman looking at us in - well, not shock, but definitely surprise.  She turned to the Master and said, "You're keeping a pair of subs in your house?  You always were a sicko when it came to sex."  We were staring at him, waiting for a signal, which came almost immediately.  He gave a hard nod, and both Thistle and myself lunged forward to grab an arm each.  Surprised, the woman didn't even struggle at first, and then it was too late.  The Master reached down, picked up the end of a chain that he had prepared last night, wrapped it around her neck and snapped a lock on it.   Then, another nod and we started pulling her arms behind her back.  Now she started to struggle and thrash, but in another instant, he had snapped a pair of manacles on her wrists.

He motioned and we backed off.  Way off.  The woman exploded.  Out of her mouth came a string of expletives that, coming from one of us, would have gotten our skin whipped off and nailed to the wall.  She could have been quoting poetry for all the Master cared.  He walked to the other end of the basement, then came back with a pair of scissors which he handed to Thistle.  To both of us, he said, "Cut off her clothes and spread her in the flat rack, legs wide.  If she isn't shaved, do it.  I'll be back after while."

As he went up the stairs, he stopped, looked back at us and said, "Meet the new girl, Tassle."

Both of us just stood there for a few seconds, stunned at the massive excitement that had just entered our dull lives.  Disbelieving, actually.  The new girl, Tassle, began to wind down.  She had struggled for a minute or so, trying to break her hands free of the manacles.  Fat chance of that.  Hercules, himself, couldn't have succeeded, let alone a mere female.  Now she just stood there, looking warily at us.

Now, as we moved toward her, she backed up to the pillar behind her and hissed, "If you touch me, I'll have the law on your asses so fast your heads will spin.  And that cocksucking bastard is going to jail for life." 

Whatever fear we had of the new woman, it paled in comparison to our dread of not carrying out our Master's orders.  So, we moved forward, each grabbed an arm again and pulled the now screaming woman backwards toward the rack.  As her butt hit the edge, we pushed and she toppled backwards onto her manacled hands.  As I held her shoulders to the mattress, Thistle raised each leg, one at a time, and fastened a leather cuff around the ankle.  Then it was attached, with short chains through the cuff rings, to the poles at the end of the rack.  Now she was helpless, laying on her back with her legs widely spread and high in the air. 

We began exploring the best way to undress her.  The thin blouse was easy.  A few snips with the scissors and it was off.  The bra was easy, also.  One snip and two knockers popped out.  Not as large as Thistle's or mine, but nice, nonetheless.  The skirt was more difficult.  The scissors didn't like the thick cloth, but eventually, it too was laying on the floor. 

And of course, the panties had no chance of surviving.  In seconds, they topped the pile of now worthless cloth on the floor.

We looked over our new captive.  She was already shaved, as most young women were in those days.  But, she was also sporting some interesting jewelry.  Two gold nipple rings decorated her boobs.  But, also, and this was something we had never seen before, her large labia were also pierced and two golden balls on each lip were dangling on the end of short gold chains.  

Her open mouth was still spewing threats and profanity in equal measure.  I asked Thistle, "Do you think the Master would mind if we gagged her."

In response, she walked to the wall, took down a large ball gag and, smiling, told me to hold up her head.  The woman - Tassle - saw it coming and immediately cut off the spewing and locked her mouth closed.  Thistle smiled at her, and, in a friendly tone, said, "Come on, now.  The little slave girl needs to open her mouth.  This won't hurt."  At the same time, the thumb and forefinger of her free hand closed around a nipple, and pinched. Tassle's eyes opened to full width, and then her mouth followed, with a scream.  Instantly, the soft ball was jammed between her teeth and the velcro band was wrapped around her head and fastened.  I let her head drop to the mattress.

That didn't stop the cursing, but it lowered the volume and made it unintelligible.

I looked at her for a minute, then said, "The Master is going to want her cleaned out, first thing.  We might as well get it ready."  Shortly, we had the double bladder device laying beside her and a large bag - still empty - hanging on a post.   Now we just waited.

We jumped up from our beds where we had been watching TV.  The upper door had slammed and the Master was coming back down.  He had been gone for hours.  When he saw the enema stuff waiting he actually complimented us.  "That's good thinking, girls.  Go ahead."

I picked up the bladder and smeared some ass cream on the plastic, then slowly began to feed it up her hole.  The babbling started back up immediately, but when I began to pump up the bladder, the ball gas almost wasn't sufficient to hold in the noise.  Meanwhile, Thistle had filled the bag and hung it and I hooked up the hose.  Seeing the Master nod, I turned the water valve on.   Her facial expressions were enough to convince me that Tassle was having trouble believing what was happening to her.

The Master brought a tray of finger food, and Thistle and I quickly made all three of us a sandwich.   As we ate, the Master said, "Lissen up, girls.  We now have a new slave girl to train and you two are going to do a lot of it.  She's to learn how to act down here and what to do and not to do.   I'll have her a bed made in a couple of days and get her a set of bracelets and a collar."   We all looked back at the subject of the conversation.  The little rolling ball was still moving, so she was still taking in water.

He wagged his finger at us.  "Now, remember carefully what I'm about to say."  He paused for a bite.  "I want her to learn discipline.  That doesn't mean that you are to torment her, or try to make her life unpleasant.  Understand?"  Of course, we nodded our agreement - not that we had any choice.  "You can make her do all the cleaning for now.  We can also make her the pee cleaner, but don't do that now.  She's liable to take revenge with her teeth."

Now, moans were coming from the area near the stairs.  He continued.  "In a day or so, I will give her a session with the whip so as to let her know what happens if she disobeys."  At that, both Thistle and I gave a shudder.  I didn't envy Tassle her entry into slavegirl training.

Thistle spoke up.  "I believe the slavegirl is full, Master.  Should your girls get it ready for use?"  He nodded and told us to put her in the X-gate.  This was, just like the whipping posts, just a pair of steel poles set into the concrete, but in this case, about eight feet apart.  The upper and lower ends of the poles had pulleys though which steel cables led to winches.  A girl could really be X'ed out in that thing.  She could even be pulled off the floor by the cables running to her wrists.   It was like being in a vertical medieval rack.  

The new girl was definitely experiencing major discomfort with her bowels full.  We released her feet, pulled her off the bed rack, the towed her down the basement floor to the X-gate.   Each of us took a leg, strapped a leather cuff on it, then hooked a snap link though the rings in the cuffs.  A few turns on the appropriate winches, and she was standing there with her legs as widely spread as they would go.  Next, we released her wrists, and again, strapped on leather cuffs.  I suspected that she would be wearing real metal ones in a few days.   Two more cables were attached, and then suddenly, she was standing there, legs spread and arms above her head.  She hadn't been pulled of the floor, but she was at full stretch - a big girl X, waiting for the Master's pleasure.

It wasn't long in coming, no joke intended.  At a gesture, I knelt down and gave his dick a good lubing with my mouth, then he stepped up to the stretched girl, and fed his member up her cunt.  As he pumped, I guessed that - no, I KNEW that the sensations of all that liquid sloshing around in her too full abdomen weren't giving her any sexual stimulation.   Fairly soon, he blew her full of his jism, then stepped back for me to clean him up.

He waved at the straining girl.  "Ok.  Take her down, let her blow it out, then clean her up.  After that, put her on the horse."

Later, as she was strapped across the horse rack, bent at the waist, feet on the floor and upper body parallel with it, we heard part of the conversation.  It was mostly one sided.  A couple of times we heard her plead then threaten - at the last, I winced, knowing what would follow.  Meanwhile, following orders, we had prepared her sleeping quarters.  It was the same as the night we first came down here.   A mat and a bucket.

---------------

Assimilation

Three days later, Tassle had a new chain and collar just like ours.  And four bracelets.  And was being trained.  Unfortunately, not by me.  I had, as the Master had put it, disobeyed his orders and exceeded my authority.  I have to admit, I HAD bullied Tassle somewhat, and once again, unfortunately, at a time when the Master was coming down the stairs, unheard.

I was put in a corner, two chains leading from my collar to each wall and tightened until my neck couldn't move an inch.  My legs were in a spreader and my hands were manacled behind me.  A rubber mask was pulled over my head which held my ball gag in place and the cotton pads over my ears. There were no holes for my eyes.  The ball gag had a breather hole which was good, since the rubber mask blocked all air to my nose.

Every morning, when I was let loose from the bed, I was fed, then led to this position on the wall.  There is stood, deaf, dumb and blind all day.  Every couple of hours, someone - Thistle, it had to be - pulled my mask up a little, took the ball out of my mouth, and let me drink a glass of water.  Immediately following, I would feel a glass or cup pushed up against my twat - a signal that I was to piss if I needed to.  Then later in the evening, I would be fed a few bites the same way.  I still got my three day enema standing up - somehow.

My sentence was a week of this no-activity punishment.  It was tough - not only were my legs dead tired from standing all day, but the boredom of doing, seeing and hearing nothing, hour after hour, was excruciating. 

At night, Thistle would bring me up to date on what was going on with Tassle.  Not much, yet.  She had had her time on the punishment poles, and was now still sporting red stripes on her back and butt.  Her name had been Cindy, and she had been a wealthy real estate agent in California.  And... get this... she was the Master's Ex!

Wow!  That was probably going to be an interesting story.  Plus, we could eventually get her to tell us about the Master.  In strict privacy, of course.   I was looking forward to my wall punishment being over.

At the end of the week, my time in the big house was up, and I was free again - so to speak.  I made sure that I toed the line really well for the next couple of weeks.  Once again, I would almost have preferred the whip to the mind numbing boredom of the last week - almost.

Tassle was having a really hard time accepting her new status - i.e. an owned and usable-at-will cunt with no rights at all.   By the time I was released for from my punishment, she already had her own bed - and a new chain and attachments to match ours -  but she was still sleeping on the mat by the stairs and pissing into the bucket beside it.  During the next week, she was strung up three times and lashed unmercifully. 

Then, the Master tried something else.  He altered the cage that was sometimes used to hold the both of us - for his visual fun - to just big enough to hold one girl - Tassle.  Then he moved it to the far end of the basement, stuffed her in it and locked the lid closed.  I knew that she had no idea what she was in for.   At first, she assumed that no cage was going to tame HER, and, she wasn't stuffed in it like a sardine.  It was easy to shift position and move around.  But, she would be unable to straighten out her body - to neither unbend at the waist, nor to straighten her legs out at the knees or hips.  Her hell was just around the corner.

It didn't take long.  By early the next morning she was pleading to no one in particular for the privilege of an interview with her Master.  Other than having one of us take her a sandwich, and make sure that her water bottle wasn't empty, he ignored her.  And her begging.   By evening, her pleas turned to wails for mercy.  In fact, the Master gave us some cotton for our ears so that we could sleep that night.  The next morning she was almost out of her mind - alternating between massive sobbing and incomprehensible babbling.  We were told to put on a movie, turn it up and not watch him.

We don't know what he said, but shortly she was out of the cage and trying to unbend her body.  From that day, she was a changed woman - a girl-slave.  When he wanted to emphasize something with Thistle and I, he just picked up the whip.  That was all that was needed to make us fall to our knees and beg for mercy.  Tassle could take the whip - she didn't like it, but she could take it.  But, after that morning, if he mentioned the possibility of the cage again, she would almost melt into a quivering and boneless pile of female flesh.  She was terrified of it.

She was allowed to take her place on her new bed, spread every night with bungees, like us, of course.  By now, it was the most natural thing for Thistle and myself.  In fact, the few times that the Master didn't put us to bed at night - obviously being on a business trip or vacation - I found myself just naturally laying on my back with my limbs spread. 

Tassle became one of us.  The first item of business was to depilate her and we took turns with the electrolysis for several weeks until she was like us - below the eyebrows,  as hairless as an egg.  Also, now with three girls, the clean out routine went to one girl a day, so each of us got an enema every three days.  It had been years since I actually pooped something out besides liquid.

Of course, she had to preform with us, but now as a threesome - or foursome, if the Master got involved.  Like us she wasn't a lesbian, but I wondered if she would succumb to the practice from sheer want of something different to do.  Like we had.  By now, Thistle and I regularly performed with each other and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Sure enough, the day came, months later, when Tassle snuggled up to me and wanted to try the girl thing.  I kept it light, just some kissing and fingering, but eventually, she was fully into it just as we were, and would lick her partners clit, or twat, or asshole and consider it a natural act.

One thing that the arrival of Tassle did, was to enlighten us at to the nature of our Master.  As it turned out, and we suspected, he was very wealthy.  A college grad and apparently an expert in electronics of some kind.  This house was on extensive acreage and he had enough pull with the local authorities to have no fear of being hassled by the law.   

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Time Passes

Years went by.  Eventually, maybe ten years later, the Master began to allow us books to read.  Eventually, we had a huge library down one wall, but of course, nothing that had been published later than - well, ten years ago.  Tassle was an intellectual, but Thistle and I had never read anything that we weren't made to, except maybe the instructions on a tube of sex lube or the like.  But, out of necessity to do something, we began to.  And in fact, I became a voracious reader.  Anything with words in a row I would enjoy.  And, we could ask for particular genres of books.  Thistle liked mushy fiction.  I devoured history books and couldn't get enough.  Tassle would read anything.

The Master was no longer a young man.  He wasn't old, but still, his sex drive was slowing down somewhat, so our bondage and stimulation activities went from frantic at the start, to a moderate pace - still often, but not two or three times a day anymore.

Then, a major event.  The Master informed us that we would be entertaining a guest in a few day.  And he made no bones about the fact that said guest had better leave in a condition of utter satisfaction.  In other words, whatever this unknown person wanted, we would do. 

We were excited.   Years had gone by since we had seen or talked to another human being.  We wondered if he was young, or old or...  Tassle, spoke up during our musing.  "The Master said a guest.  He didn't say a male guest."  That made us stop and think.  She was right.  We had just automatically assumed it would be a man.  But, a woman was a possibility. 

It was a man.  One considerably older than our Master, but not decrepit, by any means.  He was in good shape and still definitely virile.  He was a bondage aficionado also, putting whichever one of us he was using in this rack or that.  We competed to get his attention.  Part of it was just being something new in our dull little world, but most was the fact that he was a nice man - demanding, but never cruel.  And he must have had a massive prostate to go along with his good sized tool.   When he was done with the girl, she leaked cum for an hour.  For a week, we squeezed his nuts dry, and with regret, said goodbye to him when he informed us that he was leaving. 

But, it wasn't goodbye forever.  As time went on, he showed up about once a year for a sexual vacation of a few days.

And it was only a start of the visitors.   Sometime after our first older guest, another one arrived for several days of using us.  Then another and another.   There were three men in all who would visit at odd times during maybe a year.  And about once a year they would all arrive at once.  That would be a frantic several days, as the three of us would be put through our bondage paces by one man after another. 

Of course, they never confided in us, mere slavegirl nobodies, but after time went by, we slowly pieced together a blurry picture of our situation.   The men would casually drop comments to each other, or to one of us on occasion.  The utterances by themselves meant nothing, but gradually and slowly, the pieces of the puzzle came together and and we realized that the men were members of a secretive and informal bondage 'club', just to give it a name.   Apparently, all of them had secret harems like ours, and their infrequent arrivals were just a way for the men to share the wealth, so to speak.

It also explained the disappearance of our Master for several days at a time at random during any given year.

Speaking of years, we actually had no concept of time.  We didn't know if today was Friday, or in the month of December, or even if it was 1994 or 2004.  We knew time was passing.  Our bodies were slowly growing more mature.   Our breasts got heavier and a little lower and waists were thicker.  We now had to right to fix our own meals and had our own kitchen, but only with the proviso that nobody started putting on weight.  Besides, the Master only stocked our pantry with healthy foods.  We got sugary snacks only a few times a year.  As a result our weight hadn't changed much since we came here.

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Sometime is now

Years have passed.  As I write this journal today, I can only estimate how long it has been.  The closest that I can get is twenty to thirty years.  The timelessness of our lives has no signposts to indicate travel along the pathway.  I guess we could have made notches on the wall, like an inmate in a prison somewhere.  But, we didn't, and now, who knows what years have passed?

We have definitely aged, but don't consider ourselves to be old.  We all are attractive women with no age wrinkles or spots.  Tassle is older than us, but she still looks very good, also.  The Master has of necessity slowed down his sexual activities, but he has by no means abandoned us.  Every day he is down here with us, unless he is off on one of his trips.   The 'club' members still visit several times a year, and there is a new and younger man who was inducted into the exclusive clan.  He is a real stud, or maybe our familiarity with older men just makes him seem that way.   He is a replacement for the first and older man who started visiting us years ago.

That Master has passed away.  We weren't told that of course, but a few years ago, another girl was brought into our world.  That was a major surprise at the time, but as it turned out she wasn't permanent.   Her name was Suki and she had been the slave of the older man.  Her age appeared to be about the same, roughly, as Tassle.   She was chained by the neck, but wasn't given a bed like ours - just a mat and wasn't bungeed at night.  Other than that, she had the same privileges as we did.  Like us, she had no idea of the date, and knew even less about the outside world.

Also, like us, she had been a bad girl, stealing from her Master and trying to stab him in a getaway.  He had paid her bail, then took her into his dungeon and there she stayed until her Master passed away.  One of the other men in the 'club' had taken her away at night, suddenly, and our basement was the next place she knew.   She had also had a harem mate, an older woman, but who had also passed on several years back.

Of course, she being the first person in years that we had come in contact with that we could actually converse with and ask questions of, we pumped her for information for days.  For her part, we were the first people besides the exclusive few men that she had been with since her dungeon mate had passed on.  It was a real babble feast when the Master wasn't down with us.

Her bondage had been much more extreme than ours.  She and her previous partner lived in strict and tight bondage, almost daily.  Unlike our Master, who would sometimes freely joke and jibe with us, her's was an all Master/Slave relationship.  Then she showed us something that had us aghast.  She lay back on Tassle's bed, spread her legs and lifted them until they could be held back by her hands.  Wide eyed, we saw the attachment ring that had been inserted when she was enslaved.  It was a large steel ring, about an inch and a half in diameter, and was inserted into her body at her taint.  It entered just below the pussy crack and exited just before her asshole.  She told us that a chain had been permanently attached to the ring, but had been hooked to the wall with a lock.  That allowed her Master to move her around to various parts of his dungeon. 

"Can I touch it," I asked. 

"Sure. Go ahead," she said, smiling.

It would move left and right a little, but it was very firmly embedded.  Unlike Tassle's nipple and labia rings, which would cause the attached nipple or lip to stretch considerable when pulled, this one had no give.   I mean, it was a permanent part of her body.  "Does it hurt when it's pulled?," Tassle asked. 

She shook her head.  "It hurt like hell the first month it was inserted, but once that healed...  Well, hook your finger in it and pull."  I did, but only very gently.  "No, pull hard."  As I added pressure, it gave a very little, but other than that, nothing happened.  "Harder."  Now I gave a considerable tug, but she just continued smiling.  "I can actually have my midsection lifted by that ring - that's how much a part of my body it is."

We just stood back in mild disbelief.  If Tassle's pussy rings were tugged with even a fraction of that force, she would be squealing like a pig.

Since she was something different, and all men go for new pussy, she was used quite often by the Master while she was with us.  Like us, she had long since lost any sense of embarrassment, or of the idea that any act could be disgusting.  When she was told to lick one of us after we peed, she gave it no more thought than if she had been offered a soda.

A few weeks later, one of the men arrived, stayed a few days, then left with Suki.  We never saw or heard of her again.  It had become obvious to us that the men of the 'club' had made arrangements to remove and, well, reassign, the slaves of any of the men who happened to die.  That was very comforting to us, since we had long had the fear in the back of our minds that, if the Master happened to get killed in a car wreck, or a plane crash, then we were condemned to slowly die of starvation.  It might be months before the estate was settled and the house was sold and the corpses of three girls were found chained down below.  At least now, we knew that we would probably live out full, if not normal, lives.

We don't know what we have missed in the outside world.  Are there flying cars?  Cities under domes?  Robot servants?  Do people vacation on Mars?   Or has there been nuclear war, or a massive pestilence, or crop failures and starvation?  Instead of missing a normal life, maybe we are the lucky ones.  Now, I realize that the Master has been kind in keeping all references to the world outside out of our knowledge.  What the mind doesn't know about, it doesn't pine for. 

All three of us enjoy each other's bodies very often, and usually in a threesome.  Way back when he made us begin our sapphic play, we tended to, if not hide it from the Master, then at least, not flaunt it.  Now, the act is as natural as peeing.  Many times, it is female on female bondage, with one or two of us trussed up in one of the Master's toys, and being titillated or tormented by the one or both that are free.   At other times, we are just three friends in a bed, casually loving on each other, two on one, or one on one on one. 

Our place in our little world is to be sex objects.  Warm and soft bodies with holes for whatever use a man wants to put them to.  Female commodities with tits to be bobbled, and backs to be striped for his pleasure.  It is what we are and what we will always be.   There is no possible way for us to change those material facts - no effort or scheming or conspiring will get us on iota closer to the outside of the door at the top of the stairs.

We have long, long since stopped even thinking about the world above.  We just try to enjoy our little domain and wait for the Master to give his next command.

End of The Basement Mirror