The Slaver Gets His Wish

Chapter 2

I expected Tory would come but was surprised how quickly he had shown up. I had just begun to train his sixteen year old daughter, r, as a sexual slave. He had sent her to me last night, and I was just dozing off at five in the morning when the knock came.

I opened the door. There he stood, where only twelve hours earlier his daughter had stood, a supplicant, the necessary handcuffs around her tiny wrists, the key to those restraints in her mouth. She had been naked, but for the accoutrement around her slender neck, the black ribbons holding her raven hair in pig tails, and those handcuffs…

Tory was a cop. Those handcuffs were the ones he wore on his belt when he was on duty.

He had repented.

He wanted his little sixteen year old back under his watch. And he lamented his rash decision to send her to me. He had come to realize how bad it was going to be for her.

“Tory” I said. I might have smiled, but I was really tired.

“J…..I made a mistake….” He began.

“Come in” I invited.

He followed me to the kitchen table. I started the coffee pot.

“I love Rachel. I really do…please; her mother wants her back so bad!!”

Then he started to cry. I couldn’t lament, he had sent her to me with full knowledge of what I did to girls. I made them into courtesans, slaves for the wealthy.

“Tory,” I touched his shoulder and he shuddered.

“It is done, it cannot be taken back,” I said. It was as plain as I could explain it. But I was not about to have a confrontation. I took out my checkbook, scanned the last twenty entries, and decided on an amount. I made out a check and ripped it from the register. When I put it in front of him along with a cup of steaming coffee (milk, no sugar, which was how he took it) he gasped.

It was an eternity while he pondered. Enough time for me to listen to the walls. I could hear whines, down below, coming from the dungeon. I wondered if he heard his daughter languishing below.

“I don’t understand,” he finally said.

“Usually, I don’t pay anyone until after the auction. And truthfully, those monies are supposed to be deposited in an account for the retirement of the slave. Minus my commission, of course.”

“But, this isn’t legal…”

As if on cue, my fax machine began to spit out a received transmission. I sipped my coffee, and when the machine beeped to signal the end of the transmission, I sauntered over and looked through the papers. I pulled out the one that showed that I had adopted rachel and handed it to Tory. My lawyers had begun work on the paper adoption right after I had initiated ‘r’.

“It is now.”

“But this isn’t my signature,” he protested.

“Could you prove that in court, Tor?” It was a perfect forgery. Tory was aware that I had deep pockets,
sly lawyers, and several criminal organizations on my side.

He had the law, his hand, and his gun. But I had his handcuffs and daughter. Possession is nine tenths of the law.

“Tor, I’m sorry, but I don’t waste time when a supplicant shows on my doorstep. I’ve already begun the initiation process…”

Tory shuddered. I had shown some of my ‘home videos’ at a bachelor party for one of his fellow officers. He had witnessed the initiation, the training, the process. The juicy parts, at least. I edited out the mundane parts. Learning to cook, to bake, to clean, to massage. Tai chi, guided meditation, fencing, horseback riding…I tried to teach my slaves everything. You never knew what turned on a rich Saudi Prince or German Entrepreneur.

“I can’t quit now. If I give her back to you now, she will need therapy. My process is meant to break the will, and then rebuild it…into, well, into a slave that truly enjoys being used.”

“Monster,” he tried to say under his breath.

“Tor, why was it okay for you to watch the video of that thirteen year old? You watched as I used and abused her. You smiled, Tor, I saw it. And after watching that video you wanted more and more. You’re a cop. You’re supposed to uphold the law, but you sat in a room with a dozen other officers and watched stag films of my training. And no one ever asked me how old the girls were. Where they came from. Where they went.”

His eyes were huge. I guess he finally made the realization. That and ‘r’ was veritably screaming, and we could both hear her now. She was going to get a lashing for that.

“You need to get out of my house now,” I said. “Tell Judy that rachel will be fine. Tell her I’ve generously paid for two years of boarding school in Europe.”

“Judy will want to know why, J.”

I couldn’t stand his tears, but more than that, I couldn’t stand the wailing from below. I needed to tend to my charge, and he was in my way. I slapped him as hard as I’ve ever slapped a slave and pushed him towards the door.

“TELL HER MY DAUGHTER DIED WHEN SHE WAS NINE, AND I THINK OF RACHEL AS MY OWN!”
I pushed him out to the street.

Holding a hand to his wounded cheek, he looked at me one last time that day, and pleaded, “Can I see her?”

I didn’t even offer an answer. I tossed the check for fifty thousand dollars at him and turned back towards my house.

I took her a tall glass of cold grapefruit juice and a warm, wet washcloth. Unfortunately, the juice would go warm and the washcloth, cold.

When the lights came on, she stopped screaming. I could see that she had been struggling against her bonds and the strong ties had bit into her beautiful white skin. Shallow lacerations, she would be fine. She was frightened, but there was more. I saw the rage in her eyes.

Yesterday, she had been in shock and what I had done to her, cumming and pissing on her face, those acts were just insult to injury. Now she wanted free. There was a fire there. I smiled. Finding the wildness is the first step to breaking it.

I pretended I hadn’t seen the desire to be free, and I grabbed the power drill. I feigned weakness; let the strength drop out of my shoulders. I tried to shrink my stance as I approached her.

“I….I’m letting you go now, hold still….” I undid the strong tie from her right leg, dropped the twisted steel to the concrete, and unclipped her boot from the wooden x.

I knew it was coming. Her thigh almost shook with anticipation. She brought down the heel of the oversized boot, attempting to break my hand. She missed of course. I let her flail as I backed away.

“Don’t you want me to let you go?” I asked. I tried to keep the smile off my face, but I think it might have flickered there, for a moment.

“You bastard! Asshole! Piss on me? What’s wrong with you, you sick fuck! And then you leave me down here, sticky, in the dark, ASSHOLE! Did you know there are rats down here?” There weren’t, the sounds of rats were on a cd I had playing randomly in the night to terrify her. Like I would risk the flesh of a slave to an adventurous rat. Yeah, right.

I ‘cautiously’ approached her left leg and undid the steel tie. Then I unclipped her boot. I let her shake off the piece of steel as she railed.

My ears began hurting at the screams and insults she hurled. I turned towards my workbench and found a headset with an iPod attached. I turned on some Beatles music and turned back to ‘r’. Of course, she couldn’t hear the music, so I was totally amused when “I want to hold your hand” began playing.

I undid the steel ties from her upper arms but left her wrists restrained.

She was moving faster than a rabid, feral cat with a death wish. She kicked and flailed, making sure I couldn’t touch her. Her wrists were still attached to the x, but she was bucking so much, I thought she might break the four by fours the x was made of, or maybe her own bones….I decided there and then her nickname.

Each supplicant comes to me with a name. It is usually abbreviated then to the first letter of their name. Finally, as I see their nature, I give them a slave name.

Rachel had become ‘r’. ‘r’ would now be known as ‘banshee’. Ban Sidhe was the Gaelic name for a wailing fairy, a scornful sprite. Wasn’t she just.

It was time for me to reassert control, and though I didn’t want to hurt her, I decided quickly that it would only be a combat skill that she would respect at this point.

I kicked her stomach. It was a simple side kick that landed with my heel directly over her belly button. I did not follow through. Following through would have ruptured her small and large intestines, possibly her spleen and liver, and damaged her spine.

It was just enough to shock her diaphragm and take the air out of her.

If she could have buckled over, she would have. Now that the fight was gone from her, I undid her
wrists and let her drop to the floor. She might have been screaming, but I was still listening to the Beatles. ‘All we need is love’.

You go, John. You, too, Ringo. All we need is love…and a good lashing.

I hauled her over to the whipping post. She was still trying to catch her breath. I clipped her wrist restraints to the upper ring of the post. I then kicked her heels so her legs were a good three feet apart.

Now the buttplug. What to do? She had moved about just fine with the small one, and with only twelve hours of training. Man I wanted that ass. I was saving her virgin pussy for a special occasion, but that beautiful little rosebud of an asshole, I wanted to fuck her ass until she couldn’t walk.

That, of course, was not the training procedure I had created. But then again, I had created it, so I could change it, right?

Poor banshee. She was about to be thoroughly torn up.

I pulled off the iPod just as ‘Hey Jude’ came on.

She had stopped screaming

She was just mewling.

“’r’, you’ve got a new name. From this point forward, I am calling you ‘banshee’.”….I grinned, but of course, she couldn’t see it, her face was buried in her upper arm and the whipping post.

“First things, first. You screamed. Tell me your transgression.” I waited for the response as I looked
over the bullwhips. I finally chose the black and white one with six pieces of rawhide attached to the end. My grandfather had owned this whip. It had been used on cattle drives. Now I would use it to drive this young sixteen year old virgin to the threshold of pain.

She hadn’t lost that ability to quickly understand my intentions.

“I screamed, Master. I did wrong. Your slaves don’t scream unless instructed to….” The first strike opened up a velvet stripe from her right soldier to her left ass cheek.

She didn’t scream. Good.

The second made a veritable x across her virgin flesh.

She held it in.

The third broke her. The six bits of rawhide bit into the base of her neck and opened a perfect centimeter stripe down to her asshole.

As she screamed, the buttplug fell out of her ass. It was a beautiful sight watching her lose control, and a stream of piss clung to her leg as she lost bladder control.

I finished her flogging thoroughly distracted by her beautiful brown hole. I guess those lashings weren’t as hard afterwards, but I can’t say for sure. She didn’t scream again, and she was limp as though dead when I pulled out my cock and grabbed her legs.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered as I put the head of my cock against her asshole. I didn’t want her damaged beyond repair; I had made that mistake in the past, so I gave the ring of her asshole a
generous amount of lube.

“Pain can be pleasure, banshee,” I said flatly. Then I let her have all nine inches with one stroke.

I couldn’t believe it! She held back the scream! Oh, it was there, in the back of her throat, but I had buried nine solid inches of hard as steel cock into her rectum, and she hadn’t let the scream past her lips?

This was a challenge.

I began pumping her ass as hard as I could. At the same time, I grabbed her little nipples and
squeezed them. Blood from her flogging ran down, into her ass crack, and helped lube her asshole. I bit her earlobe.

Still no screams. No slave had ever taken their first anal fuck without screaming bloody murder. I had lost three potential slaves because their assholes were too tight to take anything, much less my cock.

Not banshee.

She started bucking against me, matching me thrust for thrust. I couldn’t tell if I was harvesting blood from her rectum, or just recycling it from the rivulet that streamed from her back. This little sixteen year old virgin whom had known me for the last seven years as her benevolent older ‘friend’ was matching my thrusts, one for one.

And then she really threw me off.

“Fuck me….” She pleaded.

“Yeah, hurt me,” and she sobbed.

“Make me bleed…..Puuuhleeease…”

I usually had to teach this part. Train, and train hard. But she had it naturally. I was floored.

She came.

Her whole body shuddered. She managed to stifle the orgasm wail; knowing that she was not to
scream.

I have never had a woman orgasm as long or as hard as she did right then.

My little sixteen year old neighbor girl whom I had loved for so long.

Nothing has ever been as beautiful as that.

I wanted to lick her pussy. I could smell it; but I couldn’t lick her yet. To exhibit the desire to give pleasure at this point in the process was a setback.

After an eternity of pumping cum deep in her rectum, I pulled my cock out of her ass. It was covered in blood, cum, and residual excrement. She was still breathing hard, shuddering from her orgasm. I undid the restraints and let her fall to the floor. Then I knelt by her head.

“Suck it,” I ordered.

She didn’t even register that she would be sucking down a cocktail of bodily fluids and solids. She just started sucking my cock.

Now, usually, I would not put my dick between the teeth of a slave that had so recently assaulted me, but this was my rachel, my ‘r’, my banshee. At this point, if she had bit my cock off of my body, I would have called my life thoroughly fulfilled, and died a happy man.

She sucked it, she sucked it hard, and she swallowed down the foul fluids that crossed her tongue with no complaint. I wasn’t ready to come again, but my bladder was full.

I think she knew.

She moaned as the first torrent of piss went down her throat. This time, there was no gagging, she swallowed and swallowed and swallowed. She didn’t let one drop go to waste. I guess I knew, deep in my heart, that she was really thirsty and didn’t know whether this was her only source of liquids.

Wow. She was jumping ahead of me. In month three, I usually had a slave live purely on my piss and really salty foods like saltine crackers and bagels and lox. This was only her second training session and she was lock step with what I had to teach her.

I’m not sure if it was that night, or one of the next, when I truly realized who was in control. I almost took her to my bed that night, to sleep under satin sheets, with cool humidity blown in from the state of the art air conditioner to blow over her bruised nipples. To stroke her hair, massage her tiny back, kiss her lips in earnest.

Instead, I slapped her face until both cheeks were red as cherries. Then I kicked her. I kicked her flanks and sides until she crawled into a corner. She sobbed.

“If you have moved from that corner, I will know. You can cry, you can sleep, but do not leave that corner.” I instructed forcefully.

She didn’t say she loved me as I turned off the lights.

She didn’t say anything at all.

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