A Stimulating Life Ch. 03

Members of the Vineyard staff stood silently and eyed my naked body with great interest. Some of them wore the uniforms of security guards, some of them dressed in business casual and a few of them wore medical scrubs. Some of the employees were male, although most of them were female. Perhaps females are better suited for controlling and conditioning slaves, I don't know.

With the exception of Pauline I didn't know the names of any of the people who would witness my humiliation. I supposed that was the way with slaves. We were to be abused, objectified and tormented, but we had no right to know the names of our abusers.

Then Mistress Faith entered the room and it was announced that she would be the one whipping the slaves. She was handed a single-tail whip and instructed to whip Elizabeth first and work her way down the line until all six of us had vivid marks on our skin.

Elizabeth had claimed to have a high pain tolerance, however, when the first stroke of the whip was laid across her bare skin, she gasped in pain and kicked out blindly. By the fifth lash she was screaming. Mistress Faith whipped Elizabeth methodically, marking Elizabeth from her neck to her knees. When I was told that we would be whipped, I had assumed that meant the whip would only be used on our backs, however, Mistress Faith wasn't about to confine her assault to just one target. She also whipped Elizabeth's cute buttocks, her shapely thighs, her ribs, her flat belly, and even the soft, pink flesh of Elizabeth's pubic lips.

As Elizabeth was whipped, she twisted her naked body around in an involuntary response to the pain. She kicked, swayed, arched her back and bounced her ass about, however none of that stopped the whip from scalding Elizabeth's naked skin.

"Aaaauuugh, noooooooo, aaaaaaaaaaagghhh," Elizabeth screamed as her pale skin was covered with painful stripes of pink and red. She danced, recoiled, and writhed under Mistress Faith's assault, but no matter how much Elizabeth screamed or squirmed, Mistress Faith refused to stop whipping my friend until she was satisfied with the painful marks on her skin.

When it was over, red and pink lines decorated the skin of Elizabeth's naked body. She was trembling, sweating and crying.

And when Elizabeth had been whipped to Faith's satisfaction, the screaming continued. The female slave with the long, red hair was the next innocent victim to be abused. Mistress Faith concentrated on that slave-girl's ass first, then she proceeded to redden the backs of the girl's thighs. Each time Faith whipped a slave, her technique varied somewhat, but no matter how she went about it, by the time she was finished each slave was sobbing pathetically and covered in painful marks.

It was an education in just how much control we'd given up. The contracts we had signed gave the Vineyard authority subject us to whippings like this and there was nothing we could do to stop them. Faith whipped all the female slaves first, then the boy with the feathery hair, then Nari, then me.

Mistress Faith landed some painful blows on my back. However, she also left whip marks on my naked buttocks, the backs of my thighs and a few blows even wrapped around my upper torso and left painful marks across my bare chest.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh," I screamed as the worst of the cuts seared my skin. Reflexively, my body twisted and writhed, but nothing I did protected my skin the slightest bit.

I screamed and sobbed and struggled through the whole thing, but Mistress Faith paid no mind. She was a professional and wouldn't allow my pitiful screams to stop her from whipping me or even make the blows less painful. There was no emotion in her at all. No anger and no mercy. Simply a desire to do her job well.

When she whipped my front, Mistress Faith focused mostly on my upper thighs and my lower abdomen. Bost of these targets were sensitive, and the whip inflicted sizzling pain with every splat against bare skin, however, some of the blows missed my hard, erect cock by the merest fraction of an inch and I was gripped with the dread fear of how much it might sting if she were to whip me there.

When she whipped me from behind, she seemed to have a fondness for my ass and focused most of her efforts on whipping me there. My backside throbbed with the most pervasive and exquisite sensation and the pain that flooded my naked body seemed to gather intensely in my painfully swollen cock. I danced and writhed under the whip and the pain was agonizing, but I felt a dark, delightful piquancy to the pain.

It takes a special sort of person to be a slave. Yes, the whipping I'd received was agonizingly painful and I'd do whatever I could to avoid another one, but I also experienced a dark, sexual thrill from the pain. Most people would have simply been traumatized after being whipped on their bare skin. I suppose I was traumatized too, but I was also feverish with lust.

I was still sobbing and had whip marks from my shoulders to my knees and was covered in sweat when Faith exited the room. My back, my thighs, my torso and most of my body throbbed with scalding pain, however, my cock throbbed with libidinous desire. For a slave like me, being whipped was like an extreme sort of sexual foreplay.

Elizabeth, Nari, me and the other slaves listened to each other sob until we were let down and unbuckled from the leather straps that bound us. Before I was released a female staff-member examined my wounds. The marks on my skin were studied and evaluated.

"She got you good, didn't she?" the woman said, admiring Mistress Faith's work, "Some of these are welts."

She had a posh, British accent. Under other circumstances I might have found her accent cute, but at that moment I was too enveloped in sizzling pain to appreciate the sound of her voice.

Some sort of cream was massaged into my ass and the tops of my thighs. The woman who massaged the cream into my backside assured me that it would help speed up the healing process. She was gentle as she worked the cream into my skin, but her fingertips provoked intense pain everywhere she touched.

"Aaaauuugh," I gasped as her fingertips worked on my wounded ass. My whole body was sore, and it hurt to be touched, but she just continued with her work, rubbing medicinal cream all over my naked body.

When she was finished I was released and a security guard marched over to take me back to my cell. But before I could be taken away, the woman with the medicinal cream leaned forward, placed her mouth intimately close to my ear and said, "Slaves are incredibly expensive, but if I had the money I would definitely buy you."

___

The next few days followed a routine of sorts. Every morning I was taken to the shower room to be shaved, showered and groomed. Every day I was given to Mistress Faith so she could drill me on my slave positions. I rehearsed them so much I got to the point where I could perform them all flawlessly without thinking. They became muscle memory.

When I wasn't being groomed, fed or exercised, members of the Vineyard staff were free to use my body for sex. I didn't have the right to refuse sex with any of them. I was just a naked slave to be objectified and used. Men, women, security guards, kitchen staff, medical staff, office staff, it didn't matter, I was a naked slave, available to everybody.

I have a great deal of sex appeal. If I hadn't realized it before, I realized it when I was going through slave conditioning. There was a long parade of men and women who visited me in my cell to have sex with me.

The woman who had rubbed healing lotion into my whipped skin was one of the first staff members to demand sexual gratification from me. I remember the first time she entered my cell, she first ordered me to kneel before she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

When we were both inside and the door was closed and locked, she ordered me to stay on my knees, but to remove her sneakers, her scrub pants and her panties. When her vulva was exposed to the open air, I was still down on my knees, my face just inches away from her pink slit.

"Hand behind your back, now," the woman ordered, "Before I allow a slave to lick my vagina, I insist that they be bound."

Her British accent sounded less cute and more aristocratic at that point, more commanding. I felt incapable of disobeying that aristocratic voice.

I had assumed that she would use handcuffs to lock my wrists behind my back, but instead she produced lengths or thin rope or thick cords from somewhere and proceeded to tie my wrists behind my back. I was ordered to cross my wrists and the self-assured woman wound the cords around my wrists in a complex binding that left me feeling helpless. I was young, athletic and had strong arms, but when the final vicious knot was pulled tight, I knew I could never struggle free.

"This is the way slaves should always perform their sexual duties," she informed me, "Husbands and boyfriends can use their hands during sex, but slaves should always feel helpless and constrained."

I shuffled on my knees towards the woman with the commanding voice and I arched my face eagerly towards her swollen labia. Then she lifted the hem of her scrub shirt up, so that I could have easier access.

This woman trimmed and shaved her pubic hair making it easy to locate her pubic lips and clitoris. Her pubic lips were swollen and visibly moist. I worked my tongue into her slit and was immediately rewarded with a feminine gasping sound.

Judy and Julia were locked in their own cells and they watched as I performed cunnilingus on the Vineyard employee. They knew not to make comments or ask questions. Slaves who spoke without permission inevitably got punished, so they just stood silently and watched.

The woman with the posh, British accent was leaking juices in copious amounts, but her juices had no detectable taste. I hadn't expected that. Every woman tends to taste different when you perform cunnilingus on them, but I wasn't expecting this domineering woman to have no taste at all.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh, huh, uuhhhhhh," the woman panted as I worked my tongue up and down her labia. She rested one hand on the top of my head, and another gently on my bare shoulder. She was clearly enjoying the attentions of my tongue and would pant louder when I found a delightfully responsive area on her pink slit. And obviously when I found a responsive area like that, I dutifully focused more of my efforts there.

Sounds of feminine bliss emerged from the woman's lips as I worked my tongue deep into the furrow between her swollen labia, and I felt an odd sense of pride that I was bringing such pleasure to a dominant female. I was naked, locked in a prison cell, my hands bound behind my back, my ass, my thighs and most of my body was sore from my recent whipping and I was licking the vagina of a total stranger, yet I was feeling proud of myself.

While my tongue was deep inside her vagina, I found a special spot that caused her to moan and writhe like crazy. It was a hard spot for my tongue to reach, but as a slave, I felt obligated to please my masters and mistresses, so I did my best to reach it

The more attention I applied to that location deep within her sex, the more she gasped, moaned and trembled. I had found some sort of special nerve cluster that delivered intense throbs of sexual pleasure when it was stimulated. I worked my tongue in there vigorously and the dominant female crazy with wanton sexual desire.

She whimpered and gasped as she got dangerously close to orgasm, Then she trembled and let out a piercing scream of wanton sexual rapture.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!" She gushed fluids all over my face and wailed like a banshee and ground her vulva against my face. She sounded deliriously happy and the pulsing climax of her wet sex, gave me no doubt that I had performed my duties well.

"Wow, Megan," I heard a female voice comment from outside my prison cell, "I think you burst my eardrums. You have to scream so loud?"

The woman who spoke was wearing a security guard's uniform. She was tall, athletic looking and had a scowl plastered across her face that indicated either annoyance or contempt, possibly both.

Megan retreated a few steps back, sat down on my bed and replied, "If you had his tongue inside of you, you'd scream too."

"He can't be that good," the security guard insisted, "Men never are."

"This one is," Megan insisted, "If you don't believe me, sample him for yourself."

The security guard continued to scowl as Megan got dressed and let herself out of my cell. She refused to attempt any sort of dialog with Megan, me or any of the other slaves and silently loitered in the hallway just outside my cage.

When Megan had departed from my section of the prison, the security guard unlocked the door to my cell and let herself in. She looked down at me and said, "Alright, pretty boy, let's see if there's any truth to what that crazy bitch says."

I sensed that there was tension between Megan and the scowling woman. I felt irrationally loyal to Megan and wanted to do whatever I could to support her against the scowling woman. Of course, being a slave, I had absolutely no power to do anything.

The scowling woman took off her boots, her tactical belt, her pants and her panties and ordered me to perform.

'I don't know what that bitch is thinking," she said as I touched my tongue to the pink lips of her vagina, "Men are totally useless when it comes to sex."

And before long, words stopped emanating from her mouth and her breathing became ragged. Darya had taught me how to lick a woman to orgasm and I had learned my lessons well. Maybe men are useless at oral sex if left untrained, but if a man has an excellent teacher and puts in the hours and seriously works to improve his performance, a man develop all kinds of skills.

"Oooooughhhh," the stern security guard gasped and she grabbed one of the iron bars of my cell to steady herself. I looked up from her pubic lips and saw her eyes were heavy lidded and her jaw was slack. The expression on her face was almost euphoric.

In the next cell I could see Julia with a smirk on her face. I think she was enjoying the show.

"I didn't say stop," the security guard barked when I paused too long in my efforts and I obediently worked my tongue into the seam between her swollen labia.

___

The men were different. Yes, they were sexually attracted to me and used me for their sexual gratification, but they went about it differently. For starters, they always pulled me out of my cell first. I remember a guy with a spiky, short layered haircut. He unlocked the door to my cell and rather than coming into my cell, he ordered me to get out and walk down the hall.

I had no idea who he was, but he had a key to my cell, so he must have been a Vineyard employee. I remember thinking that he was attractive and that I desperately wanted him to touch me, but that could have been the libidol. That drug kept me chronically aroused and desperate for anyone to touch me.

I was marched out of the holding cells and into the shower room. I was directed to the east side of the room and then the stranger barked out the words, "Wall position."

My training kicked in, I scurried to the nearest wall, placed my hands above my head, pressed my palms flat against the wall, leaned forward, spread my legs and pushed my butt out towards the stranger and placed my face just inches from the wall.

"You learn quickly," the stranger opined, apparently he knew I'd only had a few hours' worth of training in slave positions. Then he took a short length of chain and locked on end of the chain onto my slave collar and the other end to a steel ring in the wall. This chained me to the wall and gave me only a few inches of freedom.

"Mistress Faith is a very determined teacher, Master," I replied, and I meant it. Those who were slow to learn in Mistress Faith's classes were quickly and mercilessly punished.

With my naked ass lewdly on display, the stranger smacked one of my buttocks hard enough to cause me to gasp. My welts had all faded, however, I was still tender all over from my whipping and almost any physical contact was painful.

"You have a cute ass," the stranger informed me, "And as long as you're a slave, all I have to do to own it is to come along and take it. You're mine anytime I want, day or night."

Of course he wanted my ass. I was ordered to keep my gaze on the wall in front of me, but I could hear him moving around behind me. I heard a zipper being unzipped as well as other sounds that made me suspect he was getting undressed. Then I heard his footsteps as he stood close behind me.

"Unghh," I gasped as I felt him rub cold lubricant up my asshole. Then I felt first one and then two fingers forcing their way through my anal opening and then exploring deep inside me. I felt an intense sensation of helplessness as I stood there naked, legs spread indecently wide while a stranger penetrated my anus and explored my sensitive interior.

He removed his fingers and I felt the head of his hard cock against my anus. His cock was very thick and very hard. I couldn't see the cock that he slid into me, but it felt enormous, and there was a brief, agonizing flash of pain as my sphincter muscle was stretched wider than ever before.

"Aaaaauughhhhhhh," I gasped inarticulately as my anus expanded to accommodate his massive girth. I felt like I had been impaled on a baseball bat and I whimpered and gasped as my rapist forced his cock deeper and deeper into my rectum, stretching and filling me to the limit.

_____

And while most Vineyard employees wanted me all to themselves, some of them felt that sexually abusing me should be a group activity.

One afternoon I was locked in my cell, three female staffers came along to torment me. All three of them were dressed like Mistress Faith, in black leotards and black sneakers. I assumed that meant that their jobs were similar to Mistress Faith's and that they forced slaves to engage in hours of arduous exercise and left them soaked in their own sweat.

There were two brunettes and one blonde. The tallest brunette was about 5'11, while the other two women looked to be about 5'5" or 5'6".

"Hey, Brooke, this one's cute," said the blonde, "Let's have some fun with him."

Peter had been taken from his cell about five minutes earlier as such I was the only male slave there. The tall woman looked me over intently and smiled mischievously. She pulled a key out of her running belt, unlocked the door to my cell and then sternly said, "Inspection pose!"

Reflexively I obeyed. I stood with my legs far apart, my fingers laced behind the back of my neck, my chin up, my eyes down, my chest thrust forward, and my elbows thrust back.

"Excellent form, the blonde woman commented, "He's a good slave."

"He's good," Brooke agreed, "but even good slaves are expected to suffer."

"I thought only bad slaves got punished," the third woman said.

"Oh, it's more fun to punish them when they're bad," Brooke replied, "That way their punishment is wrapped in deep layers of guilt and ritualistic penance, but I enjoy tormenting the good slaves too. Slaves look so much more fetching when their eyes are welled up with tears and they're suffering in intense pain."

Julia was locked in the next cell and she had an excellent vantagepoint to watch as the three women bound me spreadeagle to the iron bars of my cell and prepared to torment me. She silently inched closer and intently watched to proceedings.

After the women were certain I was helpless, the one named Brooke explained her intentions to the other two black-clad women.

"This slave still has visible marks on his skin from his last whipping. It's considered bad etiquette to whip a slave until after the marks of his previous whipping have faded. Therefore, we're going to torment him in ways that won't leave any significant marks."