Gotcha Ch. 04

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sexual situations.

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Beep... Beep... Beep... The gentle but insistent sound of the alarm nudged Jen from sleep to wakefulness. She tried to roll over but the bed was too crowded, and, as the last shreds of sleep fell from her, she remembered where she was and why Sally was with her sharing the narrow confines of the single bed. With a wry smile she got up and went over to the toilet; last night had been interesting to say the least; there had been a seismic shift in the power structure and she was definitely no longer bottom of the heap. She glanced over at Sally to find that she was propped up in bed watching her closely with a strange glint in her eye.

"What? You like watching me pee?" She asked.

"Yes, but it's a better view from underneath," Sally replied, grinning unashamedly.

"Better view from underneath?" Then the penny dropped. "You'd like me to piss on you?"

"Well, not right now, there isn't time, but, in general, yes please. And don't look so shocked, trust me, after a while round here things like that will seem pretty normal. Anyway, don't knock it until you've tried it. Now, hurry up, I'm bursting and Juanita will be here any moment."

As Jen washed her hands Sally got up and went to the toilet. The room wasn't designed for double occupancy and the two women had to manoeuvre round each other which meant that Jen, whether she wanted to or not, ended up watching Sally on the toilet. She couldn't help but wonder just what it would be like, lying on the ground whilst another woman squatted over her; where would the urine fall? On her groin? On her face? Would some splash in her mouth? Would she have to swallow? In her imagination she could feel the warm fluid splashing all over her, she could smell it, she could taste it; she knew she ought to be repulsed but somehow she was more intrigued.

Juanita arrived to take them to breakfast and the two women followed her back to the kitchen and sat down a the breakfast bar. Fran was there and, somehow, her presence made Jen feel like a naughty little schoolgirl. She would have liked to continue last night's conversation with Sally and get to know more about exactly what was what around Wendy but Fran's company meant that they ate in relative silence.

"Come on, piglet, you can choose your own clothes this morning." The meal was over and Sally got up from the breakfast bar. Jen swigged down a last gulp of coffee and followed her down a corridor to a large walk-in wardrobe. There were three racks marked 'piglet', tubby' and 'Juanita' each with various outfits hanging from them. Next to the racks were drawers containing accessories. On the door was a wall chart with a repeated pattern of red 't's and 'p's. Jen stared at it for a while until, with a start, she realised that the red 'p's would correspond with her periods. Once again the depth of Wendy's information was disturbing. Sally saw her looking at the chart.

"Yeah, those are the days we're allowed panties, not that you'll like the ones you're given, they're about as sexy as a car crash. Now come on, you really don't want to be late two days in succession and I'm blowed if I'm going to be responsible."

Sally picked her standard chauffeur uniform from the racks whilst Jen chose an A-line skirt with a matching jacket and a suitable plain white blouse. Glancing quickly through the racks Jen couldn't see many items that weren't boring work clothes; it didn't look like she was expected to wearing much away from the office. She grabbed a pair of shoes and stockings and followed Sally out.

The working day continued to add to Jen's frustration. Although her new life was enforced rather than chosen it wasn't all bad news. She was, in a sense, getting everything she'd dreamed of, she was working closely with Wendy, learning the ropes and getting a thorough understanding of exactly how Amalgamated operated. If it weren't for the cost she would have been delighted with how her professional life was progressing, but the cost of success was servitude and Wendy ensured that Jen paid in full.

It wasn't just that Wendy owned her body and her soul, that she had no freedom either in or out of the office; it was the way in which Wendy constantly reinforced the message, reminding Jen of her role and status. No sooner had Jen got a positive buzz from being on the inside as a deal went down or getting to understand the reasoning behind the management decisions than her role as Wendy's slave and plaything was reinforced to slap her back down again. Jen quickly discovered that the paddle in Wendy's desk drawer was accompanied by a tawse and a flogger and Wendy was never slow to use them. Sometimes it was for some minor offence, a typo in a report for example, but sometimes it was just because Wendy wanted to.

And it wasn't just the physical punishment, Wendy was superb at judging just how hard to smack and, although Jen's backside often smarted and it would bring tears to her eyes, the punishments were never unbearable. No, what got to her, what really got to her, was the demeaning way in which she was treated like an infant, the endless put downs, the constant referring to her as 'little piglet', the way in which she had to ask for her punishment, and thank Wendy afterwards, the way, for instance, in which Wendy would force her to shuffle across the room on her knees and then chide her afterwards for having wrinkled stockings. One moment Wendy seemed to be training her to be her assistant, her partner even; the next she was training her to be something very, very different.

All the time, underpinning all this, there was a fundamental change happening deep inside Jen. She had never been a very sexual person, she had been too determined to get to the top to let the frivolous games her classmates wanted to play get in her way, and her total sexual experience was limited to a few drunken fumbles during her student days. Now, however, sex was at the forefront of everything. The way she was dressed, and so often undressed, emphasised her sexual availability and, whether she was being punished over Wendy's knee, bent over her desk, or simply bent over, Wendy would, without fail, stroke her, play with her or fondle her. Wendy wasn't just an expert in smacking, she also knew exactly what turned Jen on and, more and more, Jen's body was associating the punishments with a pleasurable sensation in her groin. Indeed her body was beginning to anticipate them, that the very thought of punishment would cause a warm flush to flow through her with a reciprocal tingle down below. Increasingly, as Wendy's fingers reached for Jen's genitals her touch was being welcomed and Jen was wishing there was more.

And then it was Sunday. The alarm went as usual but when Juanita came to fetch Jen it wasn't to take her to breakfast. Jen was told to kneel and Juanita produced a leather hood which she fitted over Jen's head. The hood completely covered the upper half of the head and had added padding inside where it covered her eyes and ears. A series of straps at the back held it fast and, after it was fitted, Jen was completely blindfolded and her hearing was dramatically reduced. Once the hood was in place Jen felt her nose being lightly squeezed and, when she opened her mouth to breath, her jaws were forced wide as a rubber ball gag was pushed inside. Her wrists were bound behind her back and a leash attached to her collar.

It was disconcerting to be led along, unable to see where she was going, unable to hear any instructions, and unable to put out her hands to protect herself but she had no choice but to put her trust in Juanita and follow wherever she led. The tiled floor beneath her feet gave way to carpet, a series of steps were negotiated, more carpet underfoot and then the leash went slack. Jen was aware of a conversation happening but the hood so muffled the sounds that she had no idea who was talking or what they were talking about. Then hands held her and she felt herself being manoeuvred against some sort of frame that felt wooden to the touch; her wrists were freed, her arms separated, spread and refastened so that now she formed a 'Y'. Her legs were then spread so that the 'Y' became an 'X' and she was spread-eagled against the framework. However, this was only the start; her head was pulled up as the hood was attached to the frame and further straps were fastened around her arms, her legs and her torso holding her tight, making even the smallest movement impossible. With the final strap tightened, she felt the cold hard pressure of a dildo being pushed against her anus, its well lubricated tip forcing its way inside her. Jen, scared that the recent scarring that Fran had left behind would be split open again did what she could to help, flexing the muscles of her buttocks to assist its passage as her anus filled with its bulk. She felt rather than heard the click as whatever held the dildo was fastened so that it was held tight, deep inside her, forcing her open and apart.

And then... nothing. Jen was left hanging there; bound and gagged, unable to move, unable to hear, unable to see, Jen drifted. Her body relaxed, held in place by the myriad straps that bound her. Her world seemed to centre on the incredible sensations coming from her rear, she was impaled like a butterfly on a pin, the helpless specimen of some deranged collector. Her whole anus felt full to exploding, that, somehow, her body couldn't, wouldn't, take this vast intruder so viciously forced inside her but the intensity of this feeling was also having an almost sexual side effect, making every nerve in her loins alive and aware. Deaf, dumb and blinded by the hood there were no distractions; every nuance, every detail, every tiny aspect was forced into sharp relief.

Suddenly, braking through her reverie, she felt hands examining her, feeling her breasts, teasing her nipples. There was no sexuality in these touches, rather a gynaecological thoroughness; the investigations medical rather than erotic. The unseen person went on to examine her vaginal lips in the same cold unfeeling way, pulling them open, testing the skin between finger and thumb. Her muffled hearing suggested that she was being discussed reinforcing the atmosphere of a medical examination, an examination which, whilst about her, did not include her. Left alone for a moment she smelt the faint whiff of antiseptic, then something cold against her breast and...

Only the gag prevented Jen from screaming her lungs out. A searing pain shot through her breast as if someone had pierced it with a red hot needle. Moments later she felt the cold metal touch against her other breast before it too suffered the same treatment. In vain Jen writhed against the straps, desperate to do anything to relive the twin points of fire which burnt so harshly. She was so distracted that hardly felt the hands reach for her groin, her vaginal lips pulled and twisted, the cold touch of steel once again, until...

If the pain from her breasts had been bad then it was nothing compared with the sheer agony erupting from the sensitive flesh between her legs. Her teeth clamped onto the ball that filled her mouth and, as far as was possible with the straps that held her, she twisted this way and that fighting the pain. Her struggles only served to force her buttocks back against the frame, forcing the dildo further in so that her distended bowels added their own tune to the cacophony of pain that wracked her body.

A sudden cold sensation coupled with the strong reek of antiseptic told her that the wounds, whatever they were, were getting some sort of medical attention and the cooling eased the pain somewhat. The searing fire eased a bit, her screaming turned to sobbing and, although spasms still ran through her, she began to relax between them until, exhausted, she collapsed, hanging from the straps.

Left alone once again Jen seemed to enter a long dark tunnel. Deprived of other sensations the fire from her groin, from her breasts and from her sphincter became her whole world. Time had no meaning, only her pain was real. After an eon or so someone came and reapplied the antiseptic but it was only a brief respite. She hung, both literally and figuratively, in a void, no light, no sound, nothing at all except the endless throbbing of her poor tortured body. At some point she realised she would have to urinate and, without a second thought, she just let go. The warm stream which ran from her, the humiliation of soiling herself were as naught; she had neither strength nor will to fight it.

And then, at last, she felt hands reaching across her, the dildo was removed from her anus, the straps undone and she was lowered gently to the floor. Finally the hood was removed and, still shaking, Jen looked up.

"There, that's better. Look what I've done for you." Wendy's voice was soothing, gentle.

Jen glanced around. She was in a room filled with various torture devices and restraints, presumably the same one that Fran had used on that first evening. Behind her Sally was busy tidying away the various paraphernalia that went with a large wooden cross. Over by the wall was a full length mirror and, unable to trust her muscles to hold her upright, she crawled on her hands an knees until she was in front of it. Each of her nipples was pierced and now held a silver ring about one centimetre in diameter. She reached out to touch one but as soon as she did the slightest movement in the ring caused a lightning bolt of pain to shoot through her.

She looked down at her groin. Similar rings pierced her labia, one on either side.

"Aren't they pretty?" Wendy asked. "They'll sting for a day or two but you'll soon get used to them and when you do we can have so much fun."

Overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, the pain, the after effects of the Zen-like trance that deep bondage induces, and now, to cap it all, the way that Wendy had marked her, Jen just stared in the mirror and sobbed. Wendy crouched down next to her.

"Shhh, little piglet," she soothed. "I know it hurts now but just you wait, when it's all healed you'll look so pretty and you want to look pretty for your Mistress, don't you?"

Jen stared at Wendy. Pretty? She didn't feel pretty, she felt scarred and disfigured.

"Well, piglet, don't you want to look pretty for your Mistress?" Wendy repeated, this time with an edge of venom.

"Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress." Jen replied, trying to keep the air of resignation out of her voice.

"That's better. I want you to be so pretty, my own, my very own, pretty little piglet." Wendy just held Jen, stroking her hair, cuddling her and, despite the condescension, despite the pain, after a while Jen was soothed and, as the last of the fight drained from her, she relaxed back into Wendy's arms. She was too exhausted to struggle anymore; just for once, just for now, she would be Wendy's very own little piglet and take comfort from belonging. As her tears dried on her cheeks she snuggled closer.

"Yes, Mummy. Thank you, Mummy." Jen whispered.

Wendy smiled to herself. She'd wait awhile before calling Juanita to take Jen back to her room; she didn't mind being called 'Mummy', not this time anyway.