Condemned to Slavery (11 page)

The bright clatter of handcuffs drew her attention to her wrists and she watched impotently as the metal shackles were used to affix her to a shower pipe, her arms held high, her feet folded and draped flaccidly beneath her.

The confinement was not pleasant, but it became a mild thing when the second part of it was installed. Her ankles were snatched, and in her physically enfeebled form she could do nothing when they were towed up and a fresh set of handcuffs used to affix them to a nozzle on the other side of the shower corridor. Stretched between the two sides, the metal rims of the cuffs digging in, she moaned in apathy. The showers sprang into hesitant half-life, their meager flow serving to spit a slow dribble across her frame while remaining insufficient to drench her amassed persecutors.

The throbbing agony in her extremities felt as though it were gnawing to the very bone, but despite her begging protests and imploring requests to be set free, the men and women ignored her.

After savoring her song of stress, one of them presented a rectangular black device to her gaze. Through the veil of water that ran down her face she saw the two prongs extending from the top, and as the side button was depressed, crackling arcs of blue lightning played about and between the two conductive antenna.

Lydia’s wail of despair was met with hearty laughs and the prod was turned off before being lifted out of her field of vision.

Time seemed to dawdle while she panted and strained to listen in for some clue as to where they would strike, her body stretched terribly and running with conductive sheets.

Lydia prayed that they only be seeking to intimidate, that they not intend to electrocute her, but when she heard the sizzling cackle of the prod sparking into life, her hopes of mercy drifted away upon the cold hurricane winds of reality.

The touch of the prod threw a wash of fire into her body, the single touch succeeding in instantly filling her entire body, the current lavishly aided by the receptive waters and the metal shower pipes that served to ground her. A wild dance made her bounce upon her bonds, the shackles causing deeper bruises, the pain of this contusion lost as every fiber of her form was assailed by a level of excruciating horror beyond anything she had imagined possible. Hauling at her bonds she sought only to evade the biting touch that pumped suffering into her with gusto, sparing nothing in the assault of her nervous system.

The shock ended and she fell limp, the voltage having plundered her vitality, leaving her a wheezing, drained wreck, a shell that could only unleash the odd quiver in sympathy for the deceased current. She did not think it possible for a body to sustain such agony without passing out, yet she was still conscious, a trait she bitterly regretted and would have seen reversed in an instant.

As though it held her very essence, the return of the prod restored her strength, the punishment making her squirm and shriek with all her previous enthusiasm and when it stopped after an eternity of unendurable hell, she dropped back into her role as an inanimate husk. She could not face anymore of this, all she wanted was for them to stop, or her awareness of it to end, be it from a faint, or from blessed demise, the ordeal leaving her careless as to which.

The shock commenced again, repeating the abuse until her whole body was alternating between a burning blazing purgatory of unimaginable harrowing, and a pulsating shattered carcass that served only to echo the screaming current, the faded chorus reverberating within her. On and on went this torture, the straits of the impromptu punishment stretching time to an eternity, each moment of recovery or application extending beyond calculation or endurance, her dirge of woe sung to an accompaniment of pattering water and malevolent laughter.

“That’ll do it I think,” said one of the guards.

“What shall we do with this foul little pervert now?” questioned another.

“I’ll take her back to her cell and meet the rest of you in the barracks,” offered a male voice.

“See you soon, we’ll save you a seat,” came a cheery response, and the guards began to withdraw.

The booted feet disappeared in volume until they finally vanished, and then Lydia felt her knees being parted. Too weak to resist as she felt the truth of his reason for staying, she could only hang between the cuffs, her head sagging upon a loose neck, able only to stare at a glazed and blurred floor. Her hair hung around her vision in damp strands while drips fell from her features and plunged down into the puddles.

Gloved fingers traced a route into her belly, scouting ahead and revealing the entrance he illicitly sought. The tip of his rigid member brushed against her pubic hair, and with a few testing jabs, he found his goal and slowly inserted himself, forcing an entry into her slack orifice. Lydia’s weak breath rose to a soft groan, and her eyes clenched shut, her body recovering some small nugget of power to respond to this violation. She tried to operate her body and haul herself free, but her mind no longer held the reigns to her flesh, the electric shocks had flung them from her grasp and it would take more than a few minutes to recover them.

Hands closed upon her hips and the guard began his defilement with a soft, casual rate, his grip strengthening in spasms as he reveled in the feel of the dangling inmate loitering upon his eager penis. The waters had made the entry far less painful than the other times, and the feel of a hard shaft riding deep into her was a hesitant pleasure. With the anguish of her form, her body responded to the soft joy with sudden enthusiasm, trying to counter the distress with the relish of coitus. The warmth in her belly helped soothe her, and swiftly she was offering small moans, the pounding throb in her body, her utter defeat adding to her arousal, her libido biting onto her debasement and turning it into an aphrodisiac.

“Tanto como piense,” announced a female voice, one that Lydia recalled as being one of the guards that had supposedly left.

Instead of fleeing or seeking to cover up his crime, he continued, too close to climax to stop now.

“Get lost, Rosalinda. This is nothing to do with you,” he barked through clenched teeth.

“Quiero Solamente mirar el espectaculo,” she uttered meekly, the false air of child like innocence a monstrous and radical lie.

“No! You can’t! Go away!” he panted.

In rejection of her words the woman walked closer, moving around to Lydia’s face and closing a gloved hand into her hair.

“Rosie! Will you get out!” he ordered.

“Ssssh! Keep quiet or you’ll cause someone else to come before
you
do. Now don’t worry, I’m not looking and I won’t tell,” advised the guard, switching to English as she lifted up Lydia’s enfeebled features and put her lips to those of the hapless prisoner, opening Lydia’s lips and stealing a kiss from them.

Unable to respond amorously due to her objection and denial of their rule, her lack of reaction had the woman whisper into her ear.

“If you don’t do as I wish, I will leave you here until the next shower is due,” she warned, and returned to the tender exchange, this time meeting Lydia’s cold response, the fright and trepidation proving more exciting for the guard than any genuine trace of passion.

Fingers brushed her nipples, tickling them and causing the tips to swell and stiffen against the teasing flicks and strokes. The ability of the guard to change from monstrous sadism to loving care was strange and disturbing, only testifying to the validity of their capacity to do and act as they wished in this domain.

The caresses melted the token reluctance and Lydia let her tongue emerge and meet the woman’s, the two organs curling on each other as the kissed wantonly. Panting with strain and lust, Lydia murmured and writhed on the impaling sex that was still thrusting into her as a tongue ran the perimeter of her mouth and then dove back in, the two of them exploring the depths of each other’s maws. Their kiss was wet and slippery from the waters coating Lydia and running down her face, the anguish of her bondage almost forgotten by her raging prurience.

The male guard broke into a series of spasmodic twitches, his thrusts uneven and corrupted by the blast of orgasmic fervor ripping into him. An injection of warmth was set within her, the feel of him swelling with climax and filling her causing Lydia to erupt with orgasm, sobbing into the woman’s smothering mouth as she endured intense spires of pleasure. The man slowed and stopped, pausing for a moment, his fingers tracing her supple body as it lay stretched and demeaned before him before he chose to withdraw. The exit made Lydia spasm wildly, a flash of ghost sensation ripping through her from his sudden departure.

The officer stepped around to the other side to hide himself while the woman continued with the kiss.

There was a soft click and a crackling growl from beneath her, the sound chilling her soul with its familiarity. The kiss broke away and before she could respond, the prod grazed her breast, making her shriek and cavort afresh within her prison, plundering her remaining vitality and reducing her to a shuddering dazed carcass.

The only reason she noticed her release was because of the stabbing pound of the shackles leaving her welt encircled wrists and ankles, the metal having painted itself a deep furrow of flushed purples and blues in which to reside. The trauma had removed all sensation in her fingers, leaving them dead, unable to move or do anything save remain limp and crooked.

Semiconscious, her senses wavering, her sight slipped into focus for a brief moment and then dropped back into blurred haziness as she was dragged from the waters, her skin testifying to being hauled across rough stone, the heat of the tropical locale rapidly drying her insensible body.

The air seemed to cool and the light seemed to dim and as she dropped onto blissfully chilled stone she stirred to find herself laying in a small barren chamber, devoid of all furnishings, with sturdy rings set in floor and ceiling. The brick room bore no windows and the only light that entered was pouring in from the corridor without. A wooden chest lay in the corner, and at the foot of one wall ran a row of equally spaced, small circular hatches with holes in the center and weighty padlocks sealing them.

Without word or explanation the guards dragged her over to this area and unfastened a lock. The hatch reluctantly parted at the center like the block of a guillotine and exposed a thin dark pit, the bottom lost within the blackness. Barely able to struggle against their designs, she was threaded feet first into the slender tube, her body just fitting into the narrow confines, the pencil thin prison trapping and compressing her tightly. Her forearms were lifted up before her torso was entered so that she would not be able to lower them, the length of her arms too long to negotiate the diameter of the prison and descend. Seizing her head in a fixed grasp, they dropped her further, her entire frame hanging from this hold as the metal slats were slipped back. The aperture shut snugly about her neck, gripping her throat and holding her up as the modified pillory was locked into position, leaving her trapped in a tiny cell, dangling by her neck, unable to alleviate the stress of such suspension in any way. Her head was free, but it was able only to peer only at the feature-free chamber. The guards turned and marched from the cell, leaving her to the callous mercies of isolation. They shut the solid door and complete and impenetrable darkness was added to her sentence, removing a valued sense to disorientate and bewilder the captive.

At first she was glad of the chance to rest. Even though her body was shrouded in contusions that let their presence be felt with even the slightest movement. Plus the drag at her neck from her cruel confinement made breathing a chore, stretching her already tender frame abominably, yet she was able to find a small sliver of comatose slumber.

Her iniquitous jailers had sealed her in here to keep the legacy of their actions in the shower secret from their fellows, to stop her talking and perhaps informing on them, but also they had removed her from the evil attentions of her cellmates. The two twisted psycho lesbian sluts were firmly intent on making every second of her incarceration a chapter in misery. Only by being allocated punishment by the guards did she find reprieve and finding bondage and abuse to seek refuge from the same was a strange paradox she could not untangle.

Despite her initial amiable attitude to this discipline, after a period of furtive repose the true measure of her ordeal began to manifest and grow with every passing hour. The featureless void of her surroundings, the strangling confinement, the isolation, all started to conspire and etch deep cuts into her sanity. Delirium arose like a specter from a restless grave and played freely with her mind. Shrieking for attention, trapped in an oblivion, lost and terrified, Lydia voiced her distraught wails in vain.

Fighting against her bonds she pounded and clawed her hands to the metal sheath in which she lay until the skin was raw and she was hoarse from her pitiful keening lament.

The darkness was steadily devouring her with its blank, terrifying canvas, her eyes finding no distinction between when they were open and when they were closed. The sense of consuming exiled separation, the lack of any outside stimuli save the strain of her incarceration and the pull at her throat, all of it was eating at her mind, leaving her in a fit of panic and desperation. The all-consuming need to escape from this hell began to fill every harried thought. All desire to remain stalwart against this trial was useless, there was to be no weathering of this hateful entrapment.

Time limped out of her ability to keep track of it, becoming forgotten and camouflaged in the eternal monstrous night that was her sole existence. Days, perhaps weeks were passing, and she could not recall what was real and what was deranged conjuration, for many times she pictured her release, of being fed, of drinking a cup of cool, crystal water, of being free to stretch and move without impediment. The realization that they were but illusions left her weeping in frustration once the fanciful truth was snatched from her.

Starvation gave her a pitiless and pernicious companion who conversed with her through the growling murmurs of her belly and the withering ache in her limbs, the language plain and easily understood. The gnawing drought of her throat began to leave her parched, unable to swallow, her lips dry, her throat barren.