Went West - Part 2b
Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2020 8:12 pm
(This is the ending part to Part 2, I had to rewrite it a few times to get it like I wanted it. Not much sex, but it advances the plot.)
I didn’t get much sleep, and awoke groggy.
Tossing and turning, what little sleep I got was disturbed by dreams of sex — submissive sex with men who had complete power over me. One time it was my soldier boyfriend and I was back in Central America, another time it was Master David, and yet another time it was that gross dickhead Nicolaides, laughing at me and calling me “Barbara Walters” while I licked his hairy balls.
Conditioning taking effect? Pre-existing inclination? Both?
Unlike my fellow slaves, I did not masturbate each night, or actually at all since I’d been enslaved ( Enslaved! I will never get used to saying that). I rarely do in any event, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it on-camera, but if I’m going to make it through this I’ll need to get some rest, and to get some rest I’m going to need to make an exception soon…
My head was killing me because of the caffeine withdrawal, but at least my ass didn’t hurt — Marta was a God-damned miracle worker. Wished I had a mirror to see the bruises.
Our morning drill was a rerun with a twist: while we did our mantras (I Will do Anything to Please my Master, Everything I Do is to Please my Master) Marta rolled out some more equipment boxes and set up more posts like the ones yesterday with the rubber dicks, but these were more along the lines of, er, tripods I guess? The last thing Marta did was go to each tripod and affix atop it a prosthetic vulva.
On some level, I had to know this was coming.
Sure enough, we knelt one at a time in front of each plastic pussy, and once we were in place Mistress Stefania (who looked as rested and in-charge as usual - the slut probably has access to coffee) gave the order for Back Elbows, meaning we all crossed our arms behind our backs and grabbed our forearms as close to our opposite elbow as possible.
For some reason, instead of facing the bleachers like we did last time, we now had our backs to them.
“Rest your chins on the ledge underneath each dummy, then on my command you will begin licking the anatomy in front of you in a pattern of outer-inner-up-down…”
While Stefania was droning on, I checked out the soccer moms of the Coffee Club.
They had a new member: a curvy little blonde with glasses, wearing mismatched yoga pants and athletic top, a TSTC hooded sweatshirt, and Chuck Taylor high-tops.
I had to give Amy an “A” for effort, but I really should have told her she could expense some new clothes.
In spite of her dress sense the women had clearly opened up to Amy and invited her to join them; interestingly, Amy was seated next to the blonde lady with the bolted-on tits who was always staring at me. I very much looked forward to Amy’s report.
Amy herself was staring at me too, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, probably shocked at what I was about to do, in public, in front of a bunch of strangers.
You and me both, kiddo, I thought, you and me both.
Then a sharp pain in my right butt cheek, accompanied by a muffled pop (and my own yelp), and Mistress Stefania telling me, “Eyes ahead, F2.”
The whistle blew, and I started licking and sucking the plastic pussy like my ass depended on it, which in a way it did. I could hear Mistress Stefania walking along behind each student, critiquing their performance: “Not so fast, slow down,” “First up and then down,” “Don’t bury your whole face in it, you’ll suffocate.”
When she got to me, I slowed down and started licking the folds very ostentatiously, sometimes sucking on the hard plastic nub of the clitoris, other times using my lips to massage the outer labia, basically being as creative as I could, for two reasons: first, by not following directions I would get a degraded score, which should help keep me behind Vanessa for the Emerald or Ruby or whatever it was she wanted, and second, because I wanted to see how Stefania would react.
I expected her to either verbally correct me like the others, or give me another pop with the whip and then verbally correct me like the others.
She did neither. She stood behind me, watching. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was there, so I put on a show for her, going way over the top with every dumb thing I could think of, like writing the alphabet with my tongue.
She watched for a while, slowly tapping her coiled whip on the side of her leg, then said, “Next time follow instructions, F2, but I like the enthusiasm. Good job,” and walked on.
--------------------------------
After “lunch” I expected us to go outside to do some more drilling, because that’s what we always do, but instead we were lined up and marched to the front of the school, to the closed-off section next to the reception area (the place where we’d first been let in to the school). It was a decent-sized room with plastic chairs, small tables, and steel rings bolted into the walls and floors.
Master David had arrived, and began linking chains from our collars to rings set in the floor in front of each chair. Marta brought in some pads for us to kneel on.
When we were all secure, he went through the door to reception, and a few minutes later Mistress Stefania escorted in the college-age young man I had seen with Vanessa on the shuttle bus, and showed him to the chair placed in front of her.
He sat down, looked at Vanessa - naked, collared, chained, kneeling before him - for a moment, then spoke: “Mom, it’s good to see you. How are you?”
“Oh sweetheart!” She replied, almost gushing with happiness. “I’m so glad to see you too! Thank you for coming. I’m doing well, it’s mostly what I expected so far—“
The rest of their conversation was drowned out when the door opened to admit more visitors: an older white man with a mane of white hair who was wearing a sport jacket with elbow patches for Ariel, a nervous little blonde girl for me, and for Tracy and Rhonda…
Master Green, the man who had completed our transport to New Mexico. He strode over to the two of them unescorted, pulled up a chair between the two of them, and sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Amy sat down in front of me, smiled and cringed slightly at the same time, and said, “I’m sorry Frankie, they wouldn’t let me bring in food for you—“
“I was kidding, Amy,” I said. “Don’t take everything I say seriously. But what are you doing here? I thought visitor day was Friday?”
Amy’s eyebrows shot up, and she whispered: “Um, today is Friday, ma’am.”
“Seriously?”
Amy nodded. “I’ve been researching methods and protocols for schools like this, and one thing I know is that they deliberately mess with your sense of time and day, to heighten uncertainty and make you more dependent on the trainers. For example, that’s why the routine is exactly the same every day, but they start and stop at different times without you knowing it, so you might have lights-out at 9pm one day and midnight the next. No outside light gets in to the building, and no clocks as you’ve mentioned, so you don’t know if the evening is genuinely running long or if that’s just your perception, and it makes you doubt your own judgement.”
She looked at me to see if I wanted her to go on; I nodded. “One of the results is it makes subjects miscount days, so they get surprised on visitor day. It’s reported pretty commonly.”
A look of concern crossed her face. “How are you doing? Are you physically okay?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay. Got a whipping last night, but nothing I can’t handle —“
Amy shot to the edge of her chair. “You got WHIPPED?” she hissed, her eyes growing large.
I turned slightly so my back was to her, and showed her my ass. “Yeah, only eight strokes, far less than fucking Nicolaides gave me, although they hurt in a different way. Does it look bad?”
Amy knelt down and touched the flesh of first one, and then the other of my cheeks. She ran her fingers in lines across each globe, then said, “Raised welts, red skin with some early signs of bruising, but no blood or broken skin that I can see. I guess they’ll fade in time.” Amy slapped her forehead: “You don’t have access to a mirror, do you?” She pulled out her phone and quickly took several photos of me (mostly my backside but some full-body ones too), then showed me my own ass.
Sure enough: looks like I’d sat on a Weed Whacker.
Also, I noticed that Amy running her fingers along my skin had given me goosebumps.
She sat back down, and as I turned around I snuck a look at Tracy and Rhonda: Green had taken off his boots, Tracy was massaging one of his bare feet, and Rhonda was sitting facing him, legs spread, holding his other foot while she ran his toes over her vulva. He watched her, smiling (which was actually kind of unnerving), clearly relaxed and enjoying himself.
It’s good to be the king, isn’t it?
“How are you handling everything?” Amy asked. She seemed genuinely concerned. “I’ve seen the uploads, of course, but I saw you in the yard this morning, and it was very different to experience it in person.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” I said, “It’s incredibly humiliating, if I let myself think about it — which I don’t. I do my best to concentrate on what’s happening in front of me, and other times I’m thinking about the story. How did it look?”
“Um, well,” Amy stammered, “I’m not going to lie to you: it was pretty hot. The others thought so too. Are you having any, um, sexual activity inside the school?”
“No, at least nothing that’s not simulated. Why?”
“The ladies told me about that, too,” Amy said. “No sex and limited physical contact the first week, but starting with week two…”
“Before you tell me any more about the True Housewives of Albuquerque,” I said, “Can we talk to Marla?”
“Oh! Yeah, sorry, just a minute,” Amy said, and dug around in her bag for a data pad. She fiddled with it for a few minutes, then said, “It’s ringing now. I’m patching it through to your earpiece, and here’s a mic.” She handed me a little silver disc, and mimed putting it up to my throat. “Speak as quietly as you want, the mic will amplify it for her.”
A couple of clicks, and I heard the low voice coming from the throat I’d spent the past week or more dreaming of ripping open with my bare hands.
“Frankie, darling, how are you holding up?” Marla said, appearing on the screen from her office.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?” I shouted, hoping to blow her eardrums out.
Amy nearly dropped the data pad, and everyone in the room turned to look at us.
“Sorry! Sorry, everything’s okay, really.” Amy said, looking around. “Sorry!”
The room returned to their conversations, except Master Green, who let out a deep-chested laugh.
Marla resettled her earbuds, straightened her jacket, then said, “I knew you’d be upset-“
“OH YA DID, DID YA?” I said, in a slightly lower voice.
“Look, I know you’re unhappy about this, and I sincerely hope you’re not suffering too much; Amy will be monitoring you closely to make sure no harm comes to you-“
“You know what would be better than that?” I said. “Getting me the FUCK out of here.”
“Well, Frankie,” Marla said, “Here’s the thing. I don’t actually have control over that, the network does: you belong to them, not me. And they are very happy with what you’re producing, I think one of our biggest advertisers wants to sponsor your whole time in obedience school outright, so financially-“
“I don’t want to hear about the network right now,” I fired back. “I want to hear about why you, Marla Patterson, experienced news professional, allowed one of her reporters, a reporter investigating the - by her own admission - notorious for disappearing people slave transport business, to be turned into a slave by an heiress to effect her own escape.”
I took a deep breath. “What the fuck, Marla? I know we’re not friends, but seriously, what the fuck? Do you owe Linda money, or is she paying you?”
It was Marla’s turn to be surprised. “What? What on Earth are you talking about, Frankie?”
“You know what I’m talking about. I told the whole story to Amy and I know she told you, it’s why Linda swapped places with me in that truck. She’s a displaced heiress who had to escape in order to reclaim her inheritance.”
Marla paused for a long moment before she spoke.
“And you believed her?”
--------------------------------
(Part Three is in the works, and includes a LOT more sex, and a surprise for Frankie. Don't miss it!)
I didn’t get much sleep, and awoke groggy.
Tossing and turning, what little sleep I got was disturbed by dreams of sex — submissive sex with men who had complete power over me. One time it was my soldier boyfriend and I was back in Central America, another time it was Master David, and yet another time it was that gross dickhead Nicolaides, laughing at me and calling me “Barbara Walters” while I licked his hairy balls.
Conditioning taking effect? Pre-existing inclination? Both?
Unlike my fellow slaves, I did not masturbate each night, or actually at all since I’d been enslaved ( Enslaved! I will never get used to saying that). I rarely do in any event, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it on-camera, but if I’m going to make it through this I’ll need to get some rest, and to get some rest I’m going to need to make an exception soon…
My head was killing me because of the caffeine withdrawal, but at least my ass didn’t hurt — Marta was a God-damned miracle worker. Wished I had a mirror to see the bruises.
Our morning drill was a rerun with a twist: while we did our mantras (I Will do Anything to Please my Master, Everything I Do is to Please my Master) Marta rolled out some more equipment boxes and set up more posts like the ones yesterday with the rubber dicks, but these were more along the lines of, er, tripods I guess? The last thing Marta did was go to each tripod and affix atop it a prosthetic vulva.
On some level, I had to know this was coming.
Sure enough, we knelt one at a time in front of each plastic pussy, and once we were in place Mistress Stefania (who looked as rested and in-charge as usual - the slut probably has access to coffee) gave the order for Back Elbows, meaning we all crossed our arms behind our backs and grabbed our forearms as close to our opposite elbow as possible.
For some reason, instead of facing the bleachers like we did last time, we now had our backs to them.
“Rest your chins on the ledge underneath each dummy, then on my command you will begin licking the anatomy in front of you in a pattern of outer-inner-up-down…”
While Stefania was droning on, I checked out the soccer moms of the Coffee Club.
They had a new member: a curvy little blonde with glasses, wearing mismatched yoga pants and athletic top, a TSTC hooded sweatshirt, and Chuck Taylor high-tops.
I had to give Amy an “A” for effort, but I really should have told her she could expense some new clothes.
In spite of her dress sense the women had clearly opened up to Amy and invited her to join them; interestingly, Amy was seated next to the blonde lady with the bolted-on tits who was always staring at me. I very much looked forward to Amy’s report.
Amy herself was staring at me too, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, probably shocked at what I was about to do, in public, in front of a bunch of strangers.
You and me both, kiddo, I thought, you and me both.
Then a sharp pain in my right butt cheek, accompanied by a muffled pop (and my own yelp), and Mistress Stefania telling me, “Eyes ahead, F2.”
The whistle blew, and I started licking and sucking the plastic pussy like my ass depended on it, which in a way it did. I could hear Mistress Stefania walking along behind each student, critiquing their performance: “Not so fast, slow down,” “First up and then down,” “Don’t bury your whole face in it, you’ll suffocate.”
When she got to me, I slowed down and started licking the folds very ostentatiously, sometimes sucking on the hard plastic nub of the clitoris, other times using my lips to massage the outer labia, basically being as creative as I could, for two reasons: first, by not following directions I would get a degraded score, which should help keep me behind Vanessa for the Emerald or Ruby or whatever it was she wanted, and second, because I wanted to see how Stefania would react.
I expected her to either verbally correct me like the others, or give me another pop with the whip and then verbally correct me like the others.
She did neither. She stood behind me, watching. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was there, so I put on a show for her, going way over the top with every dumb thing I could think of, like writing the alphabet with my tongue.
She watched for a while, slowly tapping her coiled whip on the side of her leg, then said, “Next time follow instructions, F2, but I like the enthusiasm. Good job,” and walked on.
--------------------------------
After “lunch” I expected us to go outside to do some more drilling, because that’s what we always do, but instead we were lined up and marched to the front of the school, to the closed-off section next to the reception area (the place where we’d first been let in to the school). It was a decent-sized room with plastic chairs, small tables, and steel rings bolted into the walls and floors.
Master David had arrived, and began linking chains from our collars to rings set in the floor in front of each chair. Marta brought in some pads for us to kneel on.
When we were all secure, he went through the door to reception, and a few minutes later Mistress Stefania escorted in the college-age young man I had seen with Vanessa on the shuttle bus, and showed him to the chair placed in front of her.
He sat down, looked at Vanessa - naked, collared, chained, kneeling before him - for a moment, then spoke: “Mom, it’s good to see you. How are you?”
“Oh sweetheart!” She replied, almost gushing with happiness. “I’m so glad to see you too! Thank you for coming. I’m doing well, it’s mostly what I expected so far—“
The rest of their conversation was drowned out when the door opened to admit more visitors: an older white man with a mane of white hair who was wearing a sport jacket with elbow patches for Ariel, a nervous little blonde girl for me, and for Tracy and Rhonda…
Master Green, the man who had completed our transport to New Mexico. He strode over to the two of them unescorted, pulled up a chair between the two of them, and sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Amy sat down in front of me, smiled and cringed slightly at the same time, and said, “I’m sorry Frankie, they wouldn’t let me bring in food for you—“
“I was kidding, Amy,” I said. “Don’t take everything I say seriously. But what are you doing here? I thought visitor day was Friday?”
Amy’s eyebrows shot up, and she whispered: “Um, today is Friday, ma’am.”
“Seriously?”
Amy nodded. “I’ve been researching methods and protocols for schools like this, and one thing I know is that they deliberately mess with your sense of time and day, to heighten uncertainty and make you more dependent on the trainers. For example, that’s why the routine is exactly the same every day, but they start and stop at different times without you knowing it, so you might have lights-out at 9pm one day and midnight the next. No outside light gets in to the building, and no clocks as you’ve mentioned, so you don’t know if the evening is genuinely running long or if that’s just your perception, and it makes you doubt your own judgement.”
She looked at me to see if I wanted her to go on; I nodded. “One of the results is it makes subjects miscount days, so they get surprised on visitor day. It’s reported pretty commonly.”
A look of concern crossed her face. “How are you doing? Are you physically okay?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay. Got a whipping last night, but nothing I can’t handle —“
Amy shot to the edge of her chair. “You got WHIPPED?” she hissed, her eyes growing large.
I turned slightly so my back was to her, and showed her my ass. “Yeah, only eight strokes, far less than fucking Nicolaides gave me, although they hurt in a different way. Does it look bad?”
Amy knelt down and touched the flesh of first one, and then the other of my cheeks. She ran her fingers in lines across each globe, then said, “Raised welts, red skin with some early signs of bruising, but no blood or broken skin that I can see. I guess they’ll fade in time.” Amy slapped her forehead: “You don’t have access to a mirror, do you?” She pulled out her phone and quickly took several photos of me (mostly my backside but some full-body ones too), then showed me my own ass.
Sure enough: looks like I’d sat on a Weed Whacker.
Also, I noticed that Amy running her fingers along my skin had given me goosebumps.
She sat back down, and as I turned around I snuck a look at Tracy and Rhonda: Green had taken off his boots, Tracy was massaging one of his bare feet, and Rhonda was sitting facing him, legs spread, holding his other foot while she ran his toes over her vulva. He watched her, smiling (which was actually kind of unnerving), clearly relaxed and enjoying himself.
It’s good to be the king, isn’t it?
“How are you handling everything?” Amy asked. She seemed genuinely concerned. “I’ve seen the uploads, of course, but I saw you in the yard this morning, and it was very different to experience it in person.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” I said, “It’s incredibly humiliating, if I let myself think about it — which I don’t. I do my best to concentrate on what’s happening in front of me, and other times I’m thinking about the story. How did it look?”
“Um, well,” Amy stammered, “I’m not going to lie to you: it was pretty hot. The others thought so too. Are you having any, um, sexual activity inside the school?”
“No, at least nothing that’s not simulated. Why?”
“The ladies told me about that, too,” Amy said. “No sex and limited physical contact the first week, but starting with week two…”
“Before you tell me any more about the True Housewives of Albuquerque,” I said, “Can we talk to Marla?”
“Oh! Yeah, sorry, just a minute,” Amy said, and dug around in her bag for a data pad. She fiddled with it for a few minutes, then said, “It’s ringing now. I’m patching it through to your earpiece, and here’s a mic.” She handed me a little silver disc, and mimed putting it up to my throat. “Speak as quietly as you want, the mic will amplify it for her.”
A couple of clicks, and I heard the low voice coming from the throat I’d spent the past week or more dreaming of ripping open with my bare hands.
“Frankie, darling, how are you holding up?” Marla said, appearing on the screen from her office.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?” I shouted, hoping to blow her eardrums out.
Amy nearly dropped the data pad, and everyone in the room turned to look at us.
“Sorry! Sorry, everything’s okay, really.” Amy said, looking around. “Sorry!”
The room returned to their conversations, except Master Green, who let out a deep-chested laugh.
Marla resettled her earbuds, straightened her jacket, then said, “I knew you’d be upset-“
“OH YA DID, DID YA?” I said, in a slightly lower voice.
“Look, I know you’re unhappy about this, and I sincerely hope you’re not suffering too much; Amy will be monitoring you closely to make sure no harm comes to you-“
“You know what would be better than that?” I said. “Getting me the FUCK out of here.”
“Well, Frankie,” Marla said, “Here’s the thing. I don’t actually have control over that, the network does: you belong to them, not me. And they are very happy with what you’re producing, I think one of our biggest advertisers wants to sponsor your whole time in obedience school outright, so financially-“
“I don’t want to hear about the network right now,” I fired back. “I want to hear about why you, Marla Patterson, experienced news professional, allowed one of her reporters, a reporter investigating the - by her own admission - notorious for disappearing people slave transport business, to be turned into a slave by an heiress to effect her own escape.”
I took a deep breath. “What the fuck, Marla? I know we’re not friends, but seriously, what the fuck? Do you owe Linda money, or is she paying you?”
It was Marla’s turn to be surprised. “What? What on Earth are you talking about, Frankie?”
“You know what I’m talking about. I told the whole story to Amy and I know she told you, it’s why Linda swapped places with me in that truck. She’s a displaced heiress who had to escape in order to reclaim her inheritance.”
Marla paused for a long moment before she spoke.
“And you believed her?”
--------------------------------
(Part Three is in the works, and includes a LOT more sex, and a surprise for Frankie. Don't miss it!)