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ground catacombs. They gave off the feeling that these depths could go on forever; that there were corridors and chambers stretching the whole length of the house and beyond… in a never-ending maze of darkness. So far, the slaves had been in the vault and, briefly, a few other rooms on the way to their bedchambers. This time, their journey led to the left, not right, along a dank pathway that smelled of the sea and something very wild. The first to pierce the black nothing Elise was petrified thinking there were shadows and ghosts jumping out to clutch her throat. As Sandra took the tenuous path, she felt one blast of salt air on her face, and imagined the ocean breaking through the barriers of stone and dirt, swallowing them all and taking them out to sea. Following at her heels, Laney, tried to stay sane, repeating to herself that she was safe, even when her whole body was quaking with fear.
Where were their masters? they all wondered. And why had they turned them over to this frightening threesome? Would they be rescued from this dark? Or chained to the walls and left to rot inside the cellar?
Their mounting fears subsided momentarily when the six entered an extensive open space. As more candles appeared, and the torches along the walls were lit, the room began to brighten in a dull sort of way—though there could never be enough light in these depths to cast off the intense feeling of dread.
As their eyes adjusted to the eerie luminescence, they noted several devices that only added to the spirit of fear. One contrivance was unquestionably a torture rack, a second fixture stood upright, a vertically fashioned version of the first terrifying structure. There were heavy manacles, chains and other devices implanted in the cellar’s stone walls, as well as an empty space with an intricate apparatus of bars, ropes and leather dangling from overhead.
Pushed into this empty space, the three slaves stood trembling before these masters. Mistress Gina gloated freely, especially when she viewed her prize, Laney. Essex and Darius were less contemptuous, at least until Darius began to berate them with a freewheeling tirade the slaves thought would never end.
“How dare you call yourselves slaves,” he started as he paced back and forth in front of them with his eyes like daggers pinning them to the wall behind them. “How dare you be so presumptuous, wasting our time in this silly pursuit! You think we have such freedom that we can attend a gathering like this on the spur of the moment, only to have such paltry examples passed off as true sex slaves? I have seen nothing here to commend you.” He shook his head in disgust. “It would be my advice to your masters that they collar you, chain you, and beat you morning and night for six months before they try to teach you anything more. You need to meditate on surrender!”
He stood before Laney, and seeing her tears, slapped her face. “Slaves don’t snivel!”
Moving to Elise, he stared down at the diminutive woman, then grabbed her hair. “Every hair on your head should be shaved off. This gives you too much pride, bitch.”
Sighting Sandra, he took a nipple in his grip and squeezed, and squeezed more while her lips trembled and her eyes moistened—she did all she could to hold back the flood of burning tears knowing that he wouldn’t tolerate such weakness.
“Release their hands,” he spoke to Essex and Gina, who quickly had the three slaves free.
“Now get out of those clothes…” he ordered. He pushed Sandra back so that she nearly tumbled to the floor. Only her determination not to falter kept her on her feet.
Moments later, the expensive satin lay discarded in the dirt, while a pair of rigorous hands settled on each slave moving them into bondage.
Essex captured Elise by her collar, drawing her to the horizontal rack, where she stood naked, shaking with fright and expectancy surging through her small body. Admiring her nipples, Essex’s look of calm sophistication turned devious as he took from his pants’ pocket a pair of lead weighted pinchers. “These will hurt,” he advised her, “especially as the pain compounds over time.” Though his words were grim, his face was almost gleeful as he opened the small devices and placed them over each of Elise’s nipples. With the sudden shock she bit down on her lip; though as the shock eased to a dull ache, she knew she could live with the feeling, and even find some pleasure in its crude feel. Essex looked at her as though he read her thoughts. And hooking five-inch chains to the ends of devices, he snickered playfully, “Don’t worry, your nipple torture has hardly begun. You’ll be ravaged by its delights before we’re through.”
Moving his slave to the rack, Essex instructed Elise to climb on face down. And with a torrent of excitement barging through her system, she settled in on the mesh of wooden struts spread-eagle, waiting to be bound. Her arms were outstretched at shoulder level and clamped into thick cuffs, while her parted legs were anchored with leather straps at the ankles and thighs to make certain that there was minimal movement. Her small torso adjusted to the fit of the simple bars at her hips, waist, and above her breasts. Dangling straight down from her pinched nipples, the weighted chains began to tug her flesh with a significant burn. Despite the discomfort, an agonizingly rich flood of desire attacked her crotch, turning it wet and her pussy amazingly hot as though it might pour its liquid like molten lava.
With Elise’s ass appropriately exposed, Essex moved on it with hands, probes and a leather paddle. He would have her ass—the flesh, her anus, and the interior channel worked to a frenzy, until she orgasmed from the depths of her surrender and demanded more. But he was a patient master and would take his time as he brought this slave into the dark realms of anal satisfaction and indulgence.
While Elise was bound, Darius led Sandra to the standing rack. Eyes gleaming with fury, mind consumed with his schemes, he assailed the voluptuous slave with ropes, binding her breasts into a wickedly intense display of flesh. Her two generous orbs were encircled twice, the cords in figure eights around her shoulders and crossing in front. With her chest trussed in the unnatural pose, she looked down to see the ends of her tits blushing with pink as they filled with blood; and the very tips, her nipples, looking abnormally large.
Though the bondage at her groin would be less startling to look at, Darius proceeded to constrain his slave, expertly binding her waist, thighs and cunt. Thick rope skirted the sides of her clitoris with the cords holding her labia apart and then attaching to the upper bindings. The procedure was vaguely reminiscent of the corset’s cords, which opened her pussy to view. But this was far more crude. With each knot secured in the elaborate device, Sandra turned more inwards. It was a feeling she’d repeated often since these scenes of submission had begun; but this time she was taken down a perilous path. Jason was absent from the scene; and she was left on her own to find her way with a new master she could not yet trust. She proceeded on faith and desire alone, wishing somewhere, maybe off in the corner of the cellar, Jason was there watching, and his bountiful heart was there to give her courage.
Having his slave bound to his liking, Darius continued shackling Sandra to the vertical rack with her arms and legs spread wide and to her sides. With her pussy exposed to a startling degree, she clenched inside being fearful of what pleasures this skilled master could devise.
Strange how he stared her down, eyes assaulting her like two sharp lasers—as though they were another set of ropes with another set of plans to make real. More than any man, more than even Jason ever could, this master had her locked inside his twisted world, ready to surrender without reservation to the lust that boiled from within his nefarious kingdom; he made her thoughts of Jason slip away. He continued with fingers at the doorway of her cunt, and others pinching a blood-engorged nipple. Inside she shrieked, her body recoiled; but she was with him, going nowhere but where his schemes would take her.
While her friends were immobilized, Laney watched from the sidelines. Her mistress was not so quick to have her bound; she preferred the subtle, taunting approach to torture, the one that worked on the mind in a deliberately acerbic sense. Gina found pleasure driving a psychic stake through the heart as much as she delighted in the physical extremes. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t give this slave a good dose of sexual torment; but that could wait. Everything was in the timing, and the timing was not yet right.
Standing behind the mesmerized slave, the Mistress whispered in her ear. “You’ll call me Mistress, bitch. You have that clear?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And you’ll lick my feet.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And you’ll thank me for my efforts.”
“Yes, Mistress Gina.”
“Very good. At least you learn quickly. But there’s so much more with me. Your friends are simple slaves while you are a complex bitch.” She grabbed Laney’s collar and pulled back, while her long fingers reached around and caught a nipple. “You think you know what pleasure is, slave. But you only know half of it. You think you know surrender, but you’ve only surrendered a teensy little piece of who you are.” The woman scowled and clutched her breast in a steely twisting fist. “You don’t need a master, you need me. You need a slut bitch who knows your female heart. Who understands what machinations your mind takes to avert your submission. You have a hundred excuses rattling through your brain… Oh! Your masters think you’ve submitted by your practiced forms of surrender, but none have come close to putting you on your knees.” She bit off each word as though it were fresh meat. “You need cunning. You need someone who understands your insidious and deceitful heart. You need me, bitch. You understand that, slave?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“You understand that Laney Priestly?”
She used her name—spitefully so—how would she know that?”
