| Gail stirred in the darkness and opened her eyes. Her room was familiar and comforting but something prickled in the back of her mind. Still fuzzy with sleep, she tried to marshal her thoughts, picking through her half-formed impressions, trying to place the feeling of wrongness. She listened, but the sound of her own heart in her head, pounding wildly, drowned out every other sound. She blinked, once, twice, trying to see through the gloom of the early morning hours. Her nose twitched, itching, as a faint miasma of expensive cologne, mingled with hay and dust assailed her nostrils. She sat up suddenly alert, straining to see or hear. Somebody was in the room. She swivelled her head from side to side, opening her mouth to speak, even to scream, as the bed dipped with the weight of a person sitting next to her. She drew a deep breath, ready to scream, as a cloth bag, musty-smelling and close-knit was thrust over her head. She screamed, but the cloth covered her mouth and muffled the sound to little more than a whisper.
Gail felt a cord being drawn tight around her neck, closing the bag so that she was blinded. She tried to untangle her arms and legs from her bedclothes but she was too slow and the next thing she knew, someone had ripped the sheets covering her, leaving her sitting on the bed, wearing only her pyjamas. Gail tried to shuffle away from the person sitting on her bed, but a hard hand reached out and grabbed the cotton of her pyjama top. She froze as the hand pulled her closer. Gail could smell a man's breath, soured by beer, through the mustiness of the hood. Fingers fumbled with the buttons of her pyjama jacket opening them and pushing the material aside to expose her tender, rounded breasts. Hard calloused fingers pinched and twisted her sweet nipple, making her gasp in pain.
"Careful," a deep voice growled from the other side of the room, "the boss said she wasn't to be marked or damaged and you know what he did to the last one who marked the merchandise."
"It'll fade," a voice whined in her ear, "and by the time we get her to the farm we can say she did it to herself."
The hands tugged at her pyjama jacket, tearing it off and leaving her breasts and belly uncovered. Gail shivered as the cold air played across her torso, chilling her nipples into hard erect points. The hard hand, that had grabbed her pyjama jacket, pushed hard against her chest, sending her sprawling backwards. She felt hot fingers hooking over the elastic of her pyjama pants and pulling them down, leaving her naked.
Strong hands grabbed her and rolled her onto her belly, pinning her to the bed. Gail felt fingers digging cruelly into her wrists and dragging them behind her back. She desperately wriggled struggling to break his hold, but her attacker was too strong and it took only seconds for his partner to join him and fasten her hands together. One of them pinned her legs and the other fastened her ankles to a short length of rope. Once she was pinioned they grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. Gail hobbled, blind and naked, their hard hands holding her upper arms tightly, along the landing and down the stairs as her captors dragged her out of her house. She could feel the gravel of her path, cutting painfully into her feet and then she was lifted and flung into the back of a van. She could smell dogs and the sour smell of old vomit on the rough sacking that padded the floor. Doors were slammed and the van pulled away from the kerb.
The ride seemed to last forever. Gail was jostled and bounced across the floor of the van, banging her elbows and hips painfully against the lining of the van walls. The sour-sweet smell and the heavy musk from some animal made her stomach roil and cramp painfully. The van jerked to a halt, brakes screeching and the rumble of the diesel engine died. The doors were flung open and a wave of cooler air washed over her naked body. Even through the hood, Gail could feel the change in temperature and taste a sweeter aroma than the tainted air of the van. The inside of her hood was slick with sweat that had run down her face to sting her eyes and goosebumps popped up over her body as the draught cooled the sheen of moisture on her skin.
Gail was hauled roughly out of the van and set upon her feet. She gratefully gulped huge breaths of the fresher air, catching the smells of hay and horses, with a sharper tang of freshly sawn wood. A hard finger prodded her in the back, pushing her forwards. She tottered along; her normally long stride shortened by the rope between her ankles, feeling smooth, varnished planks beneath her feet. The smell of sawn wood got stronger and she heard the sound of a lock being opened. A hard shove in the small of her back sent her sprawling, she felt a weight on her back and the cold kiss of a knife blade as it sliced through the cords around her wrists. Before she could move, the weight was gone and a door slammed behind her.
Gail clawed at the cord around her neck and pulled the hood off, then reached down to unfasten the rope around her ankles. The room was brightly lit by fluorescent lights in wire cages on the ceiling. The door had no handle and the walls were white-painted blocks, with no window. A narrow bed, with a thin mattress, occupied one wall and a covered bucket stood in the opposite corner. The ceiling was about ten feet high, well beyond her reach, even standing on the bed. The floor was bare, varnished, planking. There was no other furniture, no bedclothes and only the hood and the lengths of rope that had been used to bind her had been left in the room with her. In the corner of the ceiling, a blind, opaque glass eye marked the location of a video camera and a black plastic grill hid a speaker and microphone.
Gail crossed to the door and pounded her fists against the wood. The door stayed tightly shut, the frame unyielding. She thought of screaming and yelling, anything to attract attention, but deep down she knew that the only people who would come would be her captor and, thinking about what they might do if she became too troublesome, she decided to wait awhile. Crossing to the bed, she sat on the edge of the mattress and looked around the bare walls. The bed was narrower than an ordinary single bed and fastened to the floor, with a gap between it and the wall. Gail noticed that the bedposts had stout metal eyelets fitted into the wood, almost at floor level and another set, close to the top of the posts. She reached out to touch the smooth metal, feeling the cold smoothness against her fingertips, realising that the loops had been spaced to conform to her precise measurements. A frisson of fear streaked through her nerves as she realised that they must have watched and followed her for months.
Gail heard the click of a key being turned and the door swung open. A tall slender brunette stood in the doorway, watching for a moment, moved into the room. She was naked and carried a tray with a plastic bowl of thin oatmeal. Gail made to move towards her as a tall, muscular man stepped into the opening. In his hand he carried a cattle prod that crackled menacingly. The brunette placed the tray on the floor, picked up the hood and remains of her bindings and backed away. Both of them stepped into the corridor and slammed the door closed. Gail picked up the tray and forced herself to eat the cold, tasteless slop in the bowl. The brunette had not spoken or even looked at Gail, paying her less attention than an insect.
Gail finished the food and placed the tray on the floor. She could still feel the griping pangs of hunger and her throat was parched. Her mouth had the gritty feel and sour taste of dehydration and she could feel her thoughts becoming woolly. She tried to shout, to attract attention, but all she could manage was a weak, rasping croak. She lay on the narrow bed and closed her eyes against the hot, stinging tears of despair.
Gail had no idea how long she had been kept in the room. The lights burned continuously and, no matter which way she laid on the bed, the mattress was too short and narrow for her to rest comfortably. Even the bowls of thin oatmeal that were the only food offered to her, were brought at irregular, varying intervals. The brunette who brought and collected the trays neither looked at her, nor spoke to her. Gail tried to concoct schemes to overpower her captors and paced her cell and performing abdominal curls and press-ups on the narrow strip of floor.
Gail felt that three or four days had passed when her captivity changed. The door opened and, as always, she stood quickly. The door swung wide and, instead of the brunette who brought her food, two of her guards stood in the corridor. One of them swung his cattle prod menacingly, while the other stepped into the room and smoothly covered her head with a coarse canvas hood. She felt the tightening of a cord around her neck and then rough hands shoved her through the door and into the corridor.
Gail walked along the corridor, rough hands prodding her onwards and guiding her, so that she did not crash into the walls. Gail stumbled into a large, brightly lit room with hot lights beamed upon her. The hands jerked her to a halt and she heard footsteps moving away. Gail could smell hay and horses, with an underlying coppery tang of spilt blood. She swung her head from side to side, sweeping the room for any sounds that might lend a clue to what was about to happen, or where she was.
"Stand still!" a voice barked in her ear.
Gail froze, her head facing straight ahead. She felt the brush of air on her skin as somebody moved close to her and a whiff of expensive after-shave tickled her nostrils. She could hear the deep sighing of his breath as he slowly circled her. A warm hand, slightly roughened, brushed against her smooth, velvety belly, the splayed hand moving gradually upwards, over her ribs, until the long fingers curled beneath the gentle swell of her breast. She felt the pressure of his fingers, cradling and kneading the taut mound, then sliding over her skin to rest lightly on the nub of her nipple. His fingers plucked at the tender flesh, squeezing and rolling until he could feel it swelling and stiffening.
She felt the hand release its grip on her breast and slide between her thighs, the tip of one finger seeking out and caressing the dry lips of her sex. She gasped inside the hood, as he thrust his finger into her dry passage, tears of pain wetting the inside of the canvas hood. The rasp of his dry fingers against the delicate, tender tissues of her pussy burned unpleasantly. She sighed, silently, in relief as he pulled his finger from inside her opening. She could sense him moving around behind her and then his hands were on her buttocks, spreading them to display the puckered ring of her anus. Gail moaned softly as her anus was stretched and invaded by his hard dry finger. The pain in her backside brought hot tears to her eyes and the burning sensation between her buttocks was enough to make her head spin.
"Rather dry." said a cultured voice, close to her ear.
"But unmarked, Sir, and untrained." the first voice replied., "We thought that you might like to oversee that yourself, or we could train her to your requirements before delivery."
"Have her transferred to my wing. I shall arrange payment and then meet you in my quarters." the cultured voice purred.
Gail was led from under the bright lights, along another corridor and down a shallow flight of stone or concrete steps. The air felt cooler and damper than before, gossebumps rising on her bare skin and her nipples hardening as she climbed down the steps. The floor, beneath her feet, felt like cold stone and the slap of her bare soles echoed, dismally. The hard hand shoved her, so that she stumbled, sprawling, into another room and a heavy door slammed behind her. She heard the scrape of a chair against the stone flags and a faint creaking as somebody lowered their weight onto it. Hands grabbed her arms and legs, swinging her through the air and lowering her onto a padded table. Her knees were forced wide apart and leather straps looped around her thighs, fastening her tightly. A broad band of leather was buckled across her belly and her wrists were hauled over her head and lashed together.
Gail heard footsteps receding and the sound of the heavy door opening, then closing again. The only sounds in the room were the rasp of Gail's own breath and the loud rhythmic tick of a clock. The chill air, playing across her nipples made them stand hard and erect. Hands fumbled at her throat, unfastening the cord holding the hood closed. The hood was removed and Gail blinked, her eyes streaming in the glare as a tall pale skinned man, with jet black hair, leaned over her.
Twisting her head, Gail looked around the room, her eyes scanning the stone walls and straining for a glimpse of any clue as to here location. The walls were lined with shelves bearing thousands of books, some old and dusted with mould and others pristinely new. A large chest, by the door had a number of surgical looking instruments, arranged on a spotless white cloth. Gail swallowed nervously and turned her head away. On the other side of the table, she could see an incredible array of dildos, different sizes and made of different materials. There was a huge one, cast in bronze and polished until it had a mirror smooth surface.
She turned her head and looked back at the pale skinned man, taking in his long robe, made of scarlet silk. From the way he moved and the hang of the silk, Gail guessed that he was naked and erect beneath the slick material. He had turned to one of the shelves and returned holding a bottle of clear oil, with a narrow nozzle, in one hand. He moved to the head of the table and turned a small crank, winding it slowly, so that the head of the table slowly rose up, lifting her head. Gail could see down her body, between her rounded breasts and see the smudge of fine hair covering her pussy. Gail's thighs were aching and the leather straps bit painfully into her tender thighs.
"Now, Gail, my dear." he addressed her, "I am Andrew and I have paid handsomely to possess you. My employees have watched you for a while and I have decided that such a talented slut as yourself should not be wasted. From now on, you will serve me, in whatever ways I wish. You will address me as 'Master' on pain of the most severe of chastisements. Is that clear?"
"What gives you any right to chastise me?" Gail asked.
Andrew's reply was to reach out and grasp her tender nipple, digging his nails deeply into the base and pulling, twisting and pinching until Gail screamed hoarsely. The hard bud felt as though he was going to tear it off and leave her bleeding and she could do nothing to stop the pain that flooded her body. She tried to arch her back, but the strap across her belly held her fastened to the table top. He released his grip on her throbbing nipple and rubbed the ball of his thumb against his forefinger, feeling the slickness of her blood, where the skin had broken under his nail. He watched her sobbing and gasping, for a moment, and then reached out, taking her other nipple between his finger and thumb, twisting it until Gail sobbed in pain, again.
"I have paid a handsome amount of money to possess you. "Andrew replied, "and you are the one fastened to my table. Unless you enjoy being tortured?"
"I-I-I'm sorry, Sir." Gail whimpered. "Please don't hurt me any more."
Andrew tilted the oil bottle over the smudge of soft hair between her thighs and poured a thin stream of oil along the narrow slot of her pussy. The chill of the oil made Gail gasp and, as she looked down, she could see tiny droplets of the clear, golden oil clinging to the soft curls. The stream stopped and Andrew poured a little oil over the fingers of his right hand, making them slick and slippery. Gail could only watch as Andrew pressed his fingertip against the narrow slit between the lips of her pussy. The chilled oil eased the burning sensation as he slowly stretched her pussy with his finger. Gradually he eased the tip and then the length of his forefinger inside her, probing gently, but forcefully, between the swollen lips. Once his finger was between her lips, Andrew moved it back and forth, caressing her slowly and gently, until his fingertip brushed the base of her clit. Gail's thighs tightened as Andrew stroked the sensitive bud and her pussy began to ooze wetness between her buttocks and over the tops of her thighs.
Gail moaned softly, in the back of her throat, a wordless plea for Andrew to be merciful. Drawing his forefinger slowly out of her oozing pussy, Andrew paused and then pushed two fingers, gradually, inside her. Gail felt his fingertips inching deeper and deeper, filling and stretching her tight passage. The air in the room seemed to become thicker and charged with tension and the smell of her pussy, as she oozed over the table top and between her buttocks.
Andrew smiled, evilly, at her and slid his fingers out of her pussy. Gail tightened the muscles of her passage to try drawing his fingers back inside her, but Andrew carried on easing them out of her pussy. Sobbing in frustration, Gail felt her pussy tighten and heard the soft wet noise of her muscles squeezing on the emptiness inside her. As she drew a huge, shuddering breath, she could feel Andrew pressing at her pussy again and, looking down between her spread thighs, she watched him pushing all four of his fingers between the lips of her oozing pussy. Grunting and panting she tried to relax enough for his fingers to slide into her, but all she could feel was the pain of being opened further than she had ever been before. The first joints of his fingers spread her pussy lips, stretching them until she thought that her pussy was tearing.
"Please, Sir, you're hurting me." Gail sobbed, "Oh God, you're ripping my pussy open!"
"Be quiet slut!" Andrew snarled, "I've paid for you and I'll do whatever I want."
"Please, Sir, I'll do anything, just stop." she begged.
"I said be quiet, slut! I know how you like to feel your cunt filled. Well now you're going to find out what it's like to have it properly fisted." Andrew growled.
"Ohhh Godddd Nooooo!" Gail screamed.
As she cried out, Andrew pulled his hand sharply out of her pussy and with his other, he forced her head down, so that she had to watch. With his hand trapping her head, he slowly forced his other hand into her pussy, pushing his fingers and thumb between the lips of her pussy, spreading them until she thought that her tender flesh would split. Horrified, she watched his knuckles, and then his palm, disappearing between the swollen, bruised lips of her pussy, until she could only see his wrist, protruding obscenely from between her thighs.
Looking at her horrified expression, Andrew slowly curled his fingers inside her pussy. Gail whimpered like a wounded kitten as she felt his fist bunching inside her and he slowly twisted his arm, turning it inside her. The bones in his wrist pressed against her aching clit and she howled, as her pussy tried to contract with the ripples of a building orgasm. Thick, honeyed juices gushed over his fist, splashing onto the leather top of the table, and her thighs almost vibrated as her muscles tightened around his wrist.
Andrew began to pump his fist in and out of Gail's aching pussy, slowly and gently at first, but then jabbing harder and faster. The bone of his wrist rubbed against her rapidly hardening clit and Gail's belly and pussy tightened as he drove her closer and closer to cumming. Gail felt the burning in her pussy subsiding as Andrew's fist filled her, moving slowly inside her. Her nipples had swollen to hard points, almost ready to burst and her dripping pussy was filled with his hard hand.
"Oh God!" she moaned, "My cunt is so full, I need to cum, Sir. Please may I cum?"