Rachel's Retrospect Ch. 02

“Did you say something?” he asked, his tone obviously displeased and bordering on anger.

I instantly shook my head.

“Good,” he replied. “I didn’t think you had.”

He emphasized his words so that I immediately understood his meaning. Simply, I was totally helpless to what he was going to do to me. It was useless to beg. I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm, but my whole body was trembling.

“I think you will like my little concoction here,” he said as he slowly pushed the needle into my protruding vein; “It’s my own recipe,” he smiled.

I was terrified. I’d never used drugs before. Oh, once or twice I smoked some pot with friends in college; and I did drink frequently. But I had never injected myself with drugs, and the idea of it repulsed and frightened me. I had no idea what he was injecting me with, but I knew it was going to be terrible for me.

The Dom left me alone for what seemed only a short period of time. I laid there, my heart beating rapidly in fear of waiting for any reaction from the drugs. Now, I can only relate what happened from hazy memory. I do not remember my exact emotions and definitely no sense of reality.

The Dom removed me from the bed, tossed me over his shoulder and carried me to another part of the room. Tattered, slightly stained sheets sectioned off this area. I only had a moment, and only from a disadvantaged view, to see what all was in this area. I caught glimpse of an old, ripped leather sofa, some end tables…beer cans, newspapers, used condoms littered the floor.

He tossed me on a very large oak table on my back, and quickly, forcefully used rope to securely tie my wrists and ankles to the legs at each four corners of the table. It was extremely uncomfortable, but by this time I think my body was tingling hot and numb from the drugs. My mind was growing hazy, a million visions filling my head. Breathing was difficult, and I was somewhat aware of gently panting to get enough air.

I do not remember when the other Dom and his slave arrived; time had ceased to exist for me. I remember opening my eyes for a moment, and seeing another tall, leather-clad man standing over me. He grinned at me, but it did not register. Standing somewhat behind him, head bowed, neck collar attached to a chain whose end was wrapped around the Dom’s hand tightly, was a black-haired girl. Even in this cold weather, she was dressed in only an open-cut, PVC black halter and PVC G-string thong. It was barely enough to cover her, and I thought I could see her shivering. Her nipples were visible through the open halter bra, and I saw a pair of chained nipple clamps attached to the gold rings pierced through them. Her hands were tied or cuffed behind her back – I could not see how – and her feet were tied together by rope with enough slack in-between to allow her to walk. I could not see her face, as it was bowed and her dark hair hung down over to cover it. But I got the impression she was gagged in some way. Although my ability to reason was altered, my impression of her, however dubious, was that she was very young, and in great distress.

The Doms were talking, but I could not understand what they were saying. Their words seemed fuzzy, mumbled. Both of them had beer cans in their hands, and were now moving about the room. The other Dom seemed to have chained the girl’s leash to the table upon which I was bound; she merely stood there near me, head bowed, shivering, silent.

My next memory, if real, was turning my head to see the Doms sitting on the sofa injecting one another. I think I also remember the other Dom injecting his slave, but I am not certain of that; I just recall hearing her moan a bit as he stood near her.

Most of this time I was in a fog. I could sense people around me and things being done to me, but I am not sure during this time exactly what.

When I did find relative cognizance, the two Doms were standing over me on either side of the table. Both had removed their shirts, tons of tattoos glaring off their torsos and arms. I did not see the other slave.

There was a set of chained clips attached to the rings in my nipples; which were then attached to the ring in my navel, and one of the rings in my vagina lips. I knew they were attached very tightly, but I barely felt any pain. A leather strap had been wrapped around and tied to my head, gagging me. I did feel the pain of that, and I was aware of biting into the rough leather.

“My” Dom now seemed to be saying something, but I am not sure what it was. Either my mind could not register it, or he was speaking in a foreign language.

When he picked up the long, ornamental knife from the table and held it over me, somehow my survival instincts kicked in and I began to struggle and moan. I could consciously feel fear now, but didn’t realize I had no way of escaping.

He placed the knife a few inches from my left nipple, and was speaking as he draw a small cut into the skin. Although I did not feel pain, my body jolted at he cut. I watched him hand the knife over me to the other Dom, who did the same thing to my right breast. I know I was struggling to get free, but my body was bound so tightly to the table I could only shift around slightly.

Both Doms them bent over me and licked and sucked the blood dripping from the knife wounds. At that point I think I was actually lying still, breathing heavily – exhausted from struggling, exhausted from fear, and lost in the full effects of the drugs.

I have no memory of what might have happened after that. The next thing I can remember is being placed on the bed again. My body felt like lead, and all I could do was helplessly endure what the Doms were doing to me.

My Dom tied my ankles together with rope, then wrapped rope around my thighs and pulled them far apart. He attached the ends of those ropes to my ankles, and bent me backwards over them. He tied both my wrists to each end of the footboard. It was extremely uncomfortable but I couldn’t really feel it; just sense the discomfort.

The other slave had been positioned on the bed in the same position, secured to the headboard. Our knees were almost touching one another’s.

The other Dom then took long, thin chains and attached the ends of them to each of our nipple rings. I could instantly feel the pull on mine, and moaned. I could hear the other girl making noises of pain too. I also heard both the Doms laughing and moaning with pleasure at their ‘handiwork’.

I saw my Dom holding a long metal pole in his hand. It was maybe three feet long. He covered both raw ends of it with condoms, then pushed one end of it into my vagina. I could feel the pressure of the large diameter pole pushing deep into me. The other Dom was lifting his slave’s hips up to receive the other end of the pole. I heard her cry out when it was inserted.

We now laid there – the other slave and I – bent backwards and bound with the metal pole connecting us. The other Dom took two sets of chained clamps and attached them to her vagina rings, then to mine, pulling them tightly outward. Although I don’t know how long it had been since I had been injected, but the drugs might have been starting to wear off. I was beginning to feel pain again.

After that, the Doms both then moved away, leaving us bound and tortured there on the bed. I could hear the other slave moaning and quietly crying. For some reason I wanted to speak to her, try to comfort her – but both of us were gagged in some fashion.

I must have passed out for a while, but was awakened by the sting of a crop slapped across my stomach. My eyes instantly opened and I saw both the Doms standing over us. The other Dom was viciously whipping his slave, and she was openly and loudly crying out with each strike. I had long become conditioned to enduring the strike of a whip, but I did begin to gasp and whimper by the time my Dom had struck me about 20 times. I could feel the welts rising on my stomach, my breasts, my thighs. I can remember just closing my eyes and trying to breathe deeply, to just simply endure the punishment until he stopped.

What happened next I can remember very clearly and will never forget.

Somehow the other slave and I had been released from the awful vaginal bondage, and were now kneeling on the bed facing one another. The girl still had her head bowed, but being face to face with her now, I could make out her looks. She was indeed young, maybe a few years younger than I was. She wore no makeup, but there was a gold stud piercing through her nose, and one in her tongue. She was not very pretty, but she had lovely straight black hair. She was skinny, her breasts small, her skin slightly freckled. I could see the remnants and scars of past abuse like patchwork upon her skin.

The Doms were reattaching the clamps to each of our nipples, joining us together once again. Our collars also were chained to one another’s. The other Dom then took his slave’s cuffed hands, pulled her backwards to attach her wrists to her ankles. We both instantly cried out in pain as our nipples were pulled painfully outward. My wrists were already cuffed to my ankles with a somewhat longer chain, so I could only move forward slightly to relieve some of the tension on my nipples. I was gasping and panting in pain, the other girl whimping loudly. At that point, the whipping began again.

My Dom ordered me to count out each strike, followed by a “Thank you – may I have another.” I managed to gasp out the words each time. He gave me 20 strikes; the other Dom giving his girl 30, which she cried out with such intense pain I even winced at her punishment.

We were both released after that, both of us sweating and panting in relief from the exquisite pain. They both removed our gags so we could breathe easier, a surprising act of ‘kindness’ after the incredible punishment they had just given us.

The other Dom pulled his slave back up to a kneeling position. I could see her face flushed and covered with tears. My Dom moved my cuffed hands to the front of me, the other girl’s still attached to her ankles by a longer chain.

My Dom unhooked the chain between the girl and I on my end, and handed it to the other Dom. My Dom then spoke to me.

“Kiss her, slut. Do it now.”

My brain was still very fuzzy, and I was so tired I could hardly maintain my kneeling position. I slowly, hesitantly bent forward, turned my head slightly, and pressed my lips to the girl’s parted mouth. I had not kissed anyone – and had not been kissed – since I had been abducted over a year ago. It was not a custom for a Master or Mistress to kiss their slave. It felt surprisingly good to me to make intimate contact with another human being again. It didn’t even matter who. Her lips were dry but soft, and I could feel her breath on my face as I kissed her. What felt even nicer is that she began to react and kiss me back. I could feel our bodies begin to move with one another’s as the kiss grew deeper. She had raised her head and was becoming lost in our embrace, her eyes closed, her lips eager for mine. I heard the Doms chuckling, moaning and encouraging us, but I did not listen. Suddenly, my whole mind was focused on the girl. I did not know then if it were the drugs or the nearness of a warm, receptive “sister”, but I suddenly wanted her. I had never felt this way before, feeling sexually attracted in a dominant way toward another girl. But at the moment, I really did not think about it.

I was kissing her face now, gently licking the tears away. I could hear her breathing becoming harder, whisper-like moans crossing her lips and vibrating upon mine. It was incredibly erotic, to be chained by the nipples to this young helpless girl who could hardly move, and have the freedom to kiss her.

I did not even wait for directions from My Dom – I began moving my lips down across the side of her neck, placing soft, biting kisses upon the warm, moist skin. I could taste her salty perspiration, and it strangely aroused me.

I was able to move my head down across her chest and find her pinched, erect nipples with my tongue. I began gently sucking and flicking my tongue upon them, each time causing her body to jolt as her back arched forward into my sensual assault upon her young body.

I don’t even know what I was thinking at this time – I just knew what I was feeling tactilely, and it felt wonderful. It was so easy to get lost in the warm, soft, intimate feeling of it.

The palms of my hands, now cuffed together in front of me, found her soft, quivering stomach and lightly stroked it. I could feel her body begin to tremble as my hands slid lower and found her wet vagina. My fingers began to tickle and massage her swollen clitoris as I continued kissing the tips of her nipples, her neck, her lips.

The girl panted and moaned, her body arching and jolting in uncontrollable pleasure as I made love to her. I somehow sensed the Doms nearby, but they were both silent now, watching intently as the girl and I engaged with one another.

It only took a few minutes for the girl to cum – I could feel my fingers become soaked with warm, slick liquid, and felt her whole body tense up as her moan turned to a cry and she screamed out with the ecstasy of complete release. I wonder now if that had been the first time she had been allowed to orgasm since her enslavement. I guess I will never know. I just know now – with some satisfaction – that I made the girl cum, and that she enjoyed it. For me – now – that kind of power is intoxicating and addictive. And I now know how to use that power very, very well…

Winter passed into spring during my enslavement to the Dom. He kept me captive in the barn, and used me often and fiercely. Often darkly. I quickly came to learn the Dom was involved not only in drugs and BDSM, but Satanism as well. I was used as an unwilling but helpless “sacrifice” in several Black Rite ceremonies involving other Doms, Dommes and slaves of both sexes. I was cut and bled during these ceremonies, and my blood was drunk by the Doms and Dommes. After many of these ceremonies I was fucked by each Dom, who literally lined up to rape me with a dark cruelty that made me scream through my gag with unmasked terror.

Over the months I was in the Dom’s possession, I was whipped, beaten, violated and tortured. I was also made to cook the Dom’s meals in the small makeshift kitchen. And I was still made to eat food out of a bowl on the floor while on a leash. Often it was dog food; sometimes the remains of the meal I had just made for the Dom.

I had almost given up ever being with my Master and Mistress again. jane was slowly fading into nothingness, and I was becoming a non-entity. My sadness was so deep that I could not even consciously wrap my mind around it, or my incredibly horrendous situation. I could not even cry, and eventually, I did not even make a sound at all. I was a zombie.

I can at least recall it was early morning, spring, cool but sunny, when I was awakened by a gentle touch to my scarred stomach. I had not felt a gentle touch in such a long time, it instantly roused me.

Sitting next to me was my Mistress, looking down at me but wearing a pair of sunglasses. She was still large and tanned, and I immediately sighed in a slowly awakening cognizance of Life again at seeing her.

Master stood slightly behind her; he looked the same.

“We’ve come to take you to your new home, girl,” he said, and started to smile.

I believe I even smiled too.

I should have learned long ago that any small gift of happiness was short-lived. And in this case, tragically.

Master and Mistress bound me and placed me in a covered cage. I was almost happy to be in it, knowing I would be with them again and never see the Dom again.

I could not see, but I could feel the movement of being in a vehicle of some kind.

It happened very quickly, and ended just as quickly. I cannot now even remember sound; just the feeling of being violently thrown from side to side, and rolling over and over, cuffed to the bars of the cage.

When the cage was ejected from the truck, the velocity was so fierce it ripped the leather cuffs from my wrists and I tumbled – cage in tow strapped to my anklecuffs – down a steep embankment. Even as I rolled I could see the huge truck tumbling down behind me, engulfed in flames.

I knew it was going to crush me, but I could not stop rolling – the weight of the cage pulling me downward. I slid down the rest of the grassy embankment on my back, and finally stopped moving as the cage and I hit the dry creekbed at the bottom. My head hit a rock and I passed out. Simple as that.

When I awoke, my head was throbbing with pain. The truck, now just a mass of twisted metal smoldering with acrid smoke – a random flare-up of fire here and there - was about 40 feet from me. I do not know how it avoided rolling over me, and I don’t care. It did and I am alive to tell the tale.

I did not even bother to approach the wreckage. I knew my Master and Mistress were dead somewhere inside. I also knew that I needed to release my bleeding ankles from the cuffs.

I sat there for a while on the sharp grass, stunned and bleeding, the spring sun shining down and a cool breeze spreading the unpleasant smell of gas and burning metal across the valley. It seemed there was not a sound around; or at least I could not hear anything.

Somehow I knew I was in shock. I knew I had to have had a head concussion – the palm full of smeared blood told me that. I also could sense the feeling of after over a year, being totally free of shackles and bindings.

I reached up to my neck and unbuckled the leather collar that had for so long been attached there. I threw it on the ground near me, and took a deep breath. I was a human being again. I was free again.

Some might expect me to go straight to the police and report what had happened to me – all of what had happened. But I did not. It would be difficult to explain why I did not. Over the past year, I had changed radically; my whole way of thinking had been seriously altered. But beyond that, I had had my own thoughts and ideas ‘enlightened’. It can be argued that I had been slowly brainwashed to think this way; it doesn’t really matter. Now… NOW…all I know is that I am once again in control of my life. It is far from the life I could have ever imagined having – but it is now all I know. And I am very content with it. I have become a very strong woman who no other man or woman can control. In fact, it has become the other way around…

The ladies at the Salvation Army were very good to me in those first days of freedom. Goodwill became my favourite department store. The soup kitchen food was not great, but it was wonderful compared to cold, canned dog food.

I spoke little and told absolutely no one about my ordeal; although the counselors at the help centers did ask how I came to be there. I was a young girl with apparently no family; emaciated and covered in scars and needlemarks. I had no doubt they thought I was a runaway junkie. That was fine with me. What I really was was much more tragic; I had no intention of sharing it with another.

It might be asked why I just did not go home to my parents. I can only ask this in response: “Would you?”…

Once I was able to ‘get on my feet’ again, so to speak, I lived at the shelter and worked nights until I got enough money to rent a tiny, rat and roach-infested room in an old boarding house on the south side of town. It had a cold water faucet, an old cast-iron bathtub next to the gas stove – upon which only one burner worked – and an ancient refrigerator that was so noisy I sometimes could not sleep because of it. Of course, the horrific nightmares from which I awoke screaming most nights also contributed to my insomnia. That and the fact that I was working as a hooker to support myself…