Beyond Law, Beyond Morality Pt. 02

We spent the rest of the day touring the grounds. The estate sat on several thousand acres in the Hudson River valley, most of which were heavily forested.

"My family was obscenely wealthy," Miranda said as we walked under the canopy of green. "I say 'was' because I'm the last one left alive. So it's not really a family anymore. Obviously the money remains. We were in railroads, shipping, finance, steel -- just about any pie you could have fingers in after the Civil War. So none of it earned especially honestly. Shady backroom deals, political manipulation, all that. Shrewd investments over the years only made us richer. We never seemed very happy, though. My mother killed herself when I was six. I spent far more time with my governess anyway, so it didn't seem such a great loss. My father was an alcoholic asshole who died of a heart attack in a whorehouse when I was twenty. I was at Yale at the time. My gift was already well-developed, and so I left school and took up residence here. Ever since, I have devoted myself to...pursuing my own sexual gratification. A course that I have never regretted. Anyway, the money I have at my disposal is effectively unlimited. With that I have been able to procure a steady stream of...well, let's not mince words, victims. There are at any time here between twenty and forty female slaves, perhaps half that number of males. I do prefer the female form, and their tenderness is so...heartwarming. But men have their uses as well, don't you agree?"

"I do."

"They are in various states of training. Some advance to become my...assistants, I suppose would be the word. Others prove less...useful. Most wind up quite compliant and docile, eventually. More importantly, as you saw earlier, they become extremely responsive sexually. Sort of a sexual Stockholm Syndrome. In fact, I'm quite proud of my ability to mold them to my own ends. I look forward to sharing my techniques with you. I think you'll find them very...enjoyable."

"Where do you...acquire them?"

"Oh, here and there. All in good time, my dear Caitlin. All in good time. First, the task at hand."

We'd come to a little concrete abutment that jutted out of the ground. Miranda unlocked a heavy steel door to reveal a staircase going down.

"Watch your step," she said, disappearing into the darkness. "Please close the door firmly behind you."

By the time I was able to do so she had reached the bottom of the steps and turned on a light, although not an especially bright one. From there we went through another locked door, down another two flights, and finally through a third door. Miranda turned on the light to reveal a round concrete room with a high ceiling. Around it sat various articles of sexually useful furniture, as well as a gynecological exam table, a few cages of different sizes, and several racks of various whips, paddles, floggers, and other implements. There was also a girl. She was bound with her wrists tied and her arms stretched out behind her. These were connected tautly to tackle on the ceiling. Her ankles were shackled to the floor, allowing no movement, and she was straddled over a sawhorse-like apparatus that came to a point along its upper edge. It was precisely high enough to press firmly into her crotch. She squinted as the light came on, and it took her several seconds to adjust. When she was able to see, she fixed a look of equal parts terror and hatred on Miranda; her glances in my direction seemed if anything more scared. Probably because I was the unknown quantity in her current equation.

"How are we this morning, Elizabeth?" Miranda asked. The girl made no response.

"This one is just about a lost cause," Miranda said to me as she turned a wheel to lower the girl's arms. At that Elizabeth fell forward, her head hanging over the edge of the horse. A few quick exertions with a key and Miranda had her ankles unshackled, at which point she dragged Elizabeth forward by her hair until she crumpled to the floor in a heap.

"Come now, my little pet, it's only been twelve hours. It can't have taken that much out of you. I want you to meet someone."

Elizabeth began to sob. "Come," Miranda motioned to me. I approached the girl and knelt down a few feet from her. Miranda forced her to look at me. Her face was miserable; her eyes pleaded "Why?" through their tears. But there was still a certain fire of defiance in them. Her brown hair was ratty and disheveled, her skin pale and purplish.

"Elizabeth, this is my protégé, Caitlin. She'll be taking over your training. Perhaps you will respond more appropriately to her. And if not, well, I'm afraid we'll have no more use for you."

"Hello, Elizabeth," I said, trying hard to keep my face as neutral as possible. I felt pity for her, but did not want to show any in front of Miranda. At the same time, being presented with a slave like this, I could feel my sex stirring once again.

"Elizabeth has been with us for three months now. She's undergone the usual training, and proved...less than receptive. She even attacked one of my male slaves."

At that Elizabeth offered a hint of a smirk, and said something that rattled around in her throat, unintelligible.

"What was that, my dear?" Miranda said.

"I bit his dick off," she said with great effort and equal satisfaction.

"Yes, quite," said Miranda. "We had to retire poor William. I hope you won't meet the same fate, Elizabeth." Then, to me, "In recent weeks I've had to resort to more extreme measures with this one. That's what this room is for; I find the isolation quite effective at breaking their spirit when the usual methods fail. Anyway, she's yours for the rest of the day. If she's not making progress by dinner, I don't want to see her again."

She handed me a small ring of keys and retreated to the door. As she opened it, two well-muscled men, naked but for leather harnesses around their chests and collars around their necks, entered. They stood on either side of the door, feet spread slightly, hands folded across their chests.

"This is Tom and Jerry," Miranda said, indicating first the one on the right, then the other. "Two of my more...reliable assistants. They will comply immediately with any request from you, should you need help with, say, any heavy lifting. And if you're as dissatisfied with this worthless little cunt as I am, they will dispose of her; simply leave them here with her when you are finished, should that be the case." And then she was gone.

I looked back and forth at the two men; neither would make eye contact with me. Then I turned back to Elizabeth. I undid the ropes that were still around her wrists. They had dug into the flesh, not quite enough to break the skin, but had left deep red impressions nonetheless. Her hands were quite cold. I took them between mine and began to massage them gently.

"Elizabeth. Is that your real name?"

She nodded.

"Where are you from?"

"Louisville."

"Do you want to go home?"

"Yes."

I continued to massage her hands; they were beginning to warm up.

"You realize that's never going to happen, right? I don't say that to scare you or upset you, I just need you to understand that going home is no longer an option."

She nodded.

"It's really not. No one is coming to save you. They don't even know where to look. Miranda's been doing this for a long time."

She started to sob again.

"I need you to tell me, Elizabeth."

Through her crying she managed to get it out. "I'm never going home." But saying it only made her cry harder.

"Ok, there you go. Let it out," I said, wrapping my arms around her. She clung tight to me and sobbed uncontrollably into the curve of my neck. After a few minutes her crying subsided. She sat up. Snot, saliva, and tears coated her face.

"Towel," I said to the men by the door. Jerry moved to a small cabinet and brought over a plush hand towel, and then returned to his post. I gently wiped off Elizabeth's face. When I was finished I took her hands in mine again and looked at her tenderly.

"Elizabeth, if going home is not a possibility, what are the possibilities?"

"I don't know. I don't know who you people are. I don't know what I'm doing here."

"I think you do know what you're doing here."

"She...she wants me to be some sort of sex slave or something."

"Not or something. Exactly that."

She started to tear up again. "I don't want to be a sex slave."

"I know you don't," I said gently. "But let's take that to be one of our possibilities. What is the other possibility? And be assured there is only one other."

"She'll kill me."

"Well, I think they'll kill you," I said, nodding my head toward Tom and Jerry. "I don't want that to happen. Do you?"

"No."

"Ok, good. Now we're making progress. Given the very real and inflexible situation in which you find yourself, can we agree that becoming her...becoming our slave is the best available outcome?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"There is no why, Elizabeth. Things just happen. We can't control them, for the most part. Not the big things."

"You can. You can let me go."

"I wouldn't know how to begin to do that."

"Tell her. She'll listen to you."

"I'm not sure she would. In any case, I don't want you to go. I want you to stay. I want you to stay here, and be happy, and let us take care of you."

"That's not what happens here."

"It can be, if you let it. Tom, Jerry!" I got up and moved over toward the cages on one side of the room. "Get in," I said to the men, motioning to two cages that weren't much bigger than gibbets. True to Miranda's word, they squeezed in without complaint or protest. The doors of each cage locked with a satisfying clank.

Returning to Elizabeth, I held out my hands for her, helping her up after she took them. I brushed her hair back from her face and then leant in and kissed her softly. If she didn't really kiss back, at least she didn't pull away. I took that as a good sign. I led her over to the gyno exam chair and sat her down.

"I promise I'm not going to hurt you, Elizabeth. But I am going to restrain you, ok?"

She nodded assent. I took each leg in turn, gently massaging her feet as I did so, and placed them in the stirrups. Thick leather straps dangled from the apparatus at ankle, calf, and thigh, all of which I tightened down. Two straps across her torso came next, and finally her arms were bound down along the sides of the chair. Although almost totally immobilized, there was no strain on her joints. She should have been quite comfortable. I asked if she was.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Good. I'm not restraining you to punish you. You'll find it will greatly enhance the orgasm I'm going to give you." I stripped off my clothes until I was as naked as she.

"What do you think?" I said, half-joking.

"You're very pretty," she said.

"So are you." I knelt down between her legs and began to lick up and down the outside of her labia, gradually working my way inward. Gently I ran the tip of my tongue around her hole, then pressed it flat and worked my way up to her clit, pressing on it only for a second before moving back down. Now I could begin to taste a hint of her wetness. I began to push my tongue deeper inside her. Finally something like a sigh escaped her lips. Now her slick juices were beginning to mingle with my saliva. I plunged my tongue in and out for another minute or so, and then worked my way back up to her clit, which I sucked into my mouth, nibbling gently at its base while flipping the tip of my tongue back and forth across it. She was starting to moan now; she gasped as I slid two fingers inside of her, and I could feel her press her hips up into me as much as she could manage, which wasn't much. I curled my fingers forward, pressing on the front wall of her cunt and making a little circular motion as I continued to work on her clit, alternating between sucking on it and mashing it with my tongue. Two or three minutes of this, and her body suddenly tensed up. A long, low cry began deep in her throat and then came out through her mouth in one steady, unbroken tone. The walls of her pussy pulsating against my fingers, and I could feel the whole area grow noticeably warmer. As her body slumped back into the chair, I got up and leaned over her until our lips met, and this time she parted them and invited my tongue inside.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" I said.

"No. She was never like that with me. She only hurt me."

"Well," I said, undoing her restraints, "there's a method to her...madness, if you want to call it that, which I don't. Just an apt phrase. A good slave is docile, submissive, unquestioning. But to reach that state, you need to be broken down. It's not a one-size-fit-all approach, though, and whatever she was doing, in your case, didn't work. I thought I'd try a different angle. Not that you're there yet, but I think we made some progress, don't you?"

"I...I hope so."

"Miranda and I do have one thing very much in common, though. Our ability to orgasm hinges upon our ability to inflict pain, preferably on someone as helpless as possible. That's the underlying reason for this whole thing. And I find myself, at this moment, quite aroused, and quite in need of an orgasm. What do you suggest we do about that?"

"How about," she said, with a glimmer in her eye that hit me right in my heart and my cunt at the same time, "we hurt one of them?"

"I like the way you think, Elizabeth. There might be hope for you yet."