TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara Pt. 03

"Yes, mistress," the overseer croaked softly, her eyes wet.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. Still wearing the bathrobe, Sara opened it, admitting a male utility and three drones.

"Good evening, mistress," said the utility, eyes low.

With practiced speed and robotic precision, the drones stripped off the saturated bedding and began to apply a fresh set. Sara noticed the utility's gaze settle on Cruz, her heavy breasts and shaved vulva on open display.

Following a sudden impulse, Sara reached down and cupped the utility's genitals through his trousers. He turned white as her hand moved expertly around his private parts. He was intact, but locked in chastity.

"Too bad," she whispered into his ear, loud enough for Cruz to hear. "I was hoping maybe you could plug her for me -- she seems to be leaking."

The utility turned bright red and hung his head, humiliated. Cruz began to weep, her chest convulsing with silent sobs.

The drones finished their work and departed with the utility. Sara smiled, advancing on Cruz while lifting her robe to receive cunnalingus from her.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the slave felt her guts churn. She realized that she had broken the one unspoken rule that all slaves have among themselves: never to increase the suffering of another slave -- unless explicitly ordered to do so.

Her heart sank, thinking about how she had needlessly humiliated the utility -- and she had even enjoyed it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she felt sick. Given the power of a mistress for just a few hours, she had become as cruel and capricious as any that she herself had ever serviced.

Without thinking, she picked up phone to have the utility called back so she could apologize, but she hung up again without speaking a word. It was absurd to even contemplate what she would say to him. She had done an awful thing, and she had no choice but to carry the guilt of it forward -- like pain that lingers after a caning.

***

Returning to Helios, Sara did not see House Mistress Cruz for several days -- and she was actually glad for it. The game, or whatever it was, had gone too far. She might not have believed it herself a week earlier, but there were some things that she would not trade for an orgasm.

When she looked up at the assignment board and saw that once again it was blank to the right of "2280," there was no immediate rush of fear. Instead, she felt resigned. She looked towards the dom, waiting for the verbal instructions that she knew would come.

"Sara is to see House Master Gabriel, office five," she said.

Startled, Sara felt her apprehension beginning to rise. Stepping into the office, Gabriel quickly closed the door behind her. She immediately sensed his agitation, and her fear rose further.

"Strip -- naked," he said.

Gabriel took advantage of the stable sluts as much as every other house master, but he was never demeaning or brusque. In fact, Sara usually regarded him as one of the most sympathetic overseers -- willing to listen and not as quick as others to hand out punishment. She could sense none of that in him. He seemed angry -- maybe even frightened.

Once she was undressed, Gabriel took a heavy leather collar and fastened it tight around her neck. It was not a costume piece -- it was a serious restraint with a built-in choke.

"I don't know what you did, Sara, but you're in deep shit," he said, concentrating on his work.

Next, he fixed cuffs around her wrists and ankles.

To her horror, he attached a leash to her collar, then led her out through the stable, naked except for her restraints. She could feel eyes on her as she walked, head bowed in shame. Other girls glanced at her sideways or looked away altogether. No one spoke. Sara was completely disgraced and terrified, knowing that this type of public humiliation was always a prelude to torture.

They stepped into an elevator and House Master Gabriel pressed the button for Sub-Level 9 -- the deepest part of the entire complex.

"Please, master..." Sara began, as soon as the doors slid shut.

"Shut up!" he snapped. "I don't want to talk to you right now."

The slave began to tremble, breathing exercises no longer sufficient to hold back her fear. She could feel the depth pressing down on her. The air turned cold.

The doors parted. She started to hyperventilate. House Master Gabriel tugged firmly on her leash, partially closing the choke around her throat, making her fight even harder for each breath. She was in a dimly lit corridor, walking past black-painted metal doors, each marked with a number stenciled in white. From behind each door, she could hear the sounds of slaves being tortured.

"Please, Master! Please, don't! Don't put any more in!" cried a female voice. "Brenda has learned! She won't ever do it ever again! Please! It hurts so bad! Please!"

The slave's pleas gave way to high-pitched shrieks, joining the chorus of agony that echoed all around them.

Sara was already feeling lightheaded when Gabriel opened the door to room 15. She could hear her heart pounding and darkness had begun to gather in her peripheral vision.

Yanked through the doorway by her collar, she froze. The room was dark, except for a pool of light centered on a reinforced gynecological examination table. There were anchor points for her wrist and ankle cuffs, as well as thick leather straps to hold her thighs, waist, chest and arms in place.

The table was surrounded on three sides by racks and trays displaying every conceivable means of inflicting pain: whips, paddles, canes, electrical wires with clips and probes, surgical instruments, inflatable plugs, tidy rows of sterilized needs, vacuum cylinders, specula, a pot of glowing coals with branding irons and other things -- things that Sara hoped she would never understand.

A mirror hung overhead, so that she would be able to watch everything that was being done to her while she was strapped down on the table.

Shadowy figures stood just beyond the light. One of them, a tall, muscular man, walked towards her, extending his hand to take her leash.

Sara vomited, emptying her stomach onto the concrete floor.

The tall man took the leash from House Master Gabriel.

"Clean that up," he said in a deep, commanding voice. "Also, bring me a chair."

Several drones leapt to fulfill his orders -- kneeling to mop up Sara's watery vomit and setting a sturdy metal chair in the pool of light, facing the examination table.

As he stepped out of the shadows, Sara could see the man pulling her along clearly. His skin was dark -- nearly black -- and his head was shaved. He wore a tailored suit, polished leather shoes and an expensive watch.

He brought her over to the chair.

"Sit down, Sara," he said.

She obeyed, head low, body quivering with fear.

He took a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket and used it to gently dab her chin, cleaning up slimy strings of vomit.

"Have this laundered and returned to my office," he said, holding it up for a drone who immediately snatched it out of his hand.

Unhurried, he leaned back against the examination table, studying the slave. Feeling nausea welling up inside of her again, Sara sucked air through her teeth in short, shallow breaths.

"Sara, my name is Nigel Westin," the man said. "I manage the stables here at Helios. I want you to listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you.

"As a house girl, you're accustomed to the idea that certain parts of your body and certain types of punishment are off-limits for you. Those rules don't apply to me. I can do anything to any part of you that I decide is necessary."

Sara choked down an acrid swig of vomit that flooded into her mouth.

"Having said that, I have not brought you here to punish you," he continued. "Whether or not you go up on this table is entirely up to you. I need you to answer some questions for me, and if you do that honestly and without reservation, I promise that this whole process will be completely painless.

"Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

She managed a faint nod.

"Good," he smiled. "I'm going to ask you about House Mistress Cruz and the your activities with her over the past several months. Are you going to talk to me about that?"

She nodded again, stronger.

"I'm glad, Sara," he said. "You're a pretty girl, and I just hate seeing pretty girls get hurt. Before we start, I want to ask you a different question:

"Are you cold? I'm wearing a wool suit, and I'm freezing down here. This must be extremely uncomfortable for you."

"Yes, master," she answered, allowing a small smile to cross her lips.

He nodded, smiling himself.

"House Master Gabriel, please bring Sara a robe and some slippers," he said, looking out into the darkness. "I think she is going to be a good girl for us."

***

Sara told him everything that happened in explicit detail. He seemed to already know much of it, and she was fascinated when he showed her photographs and video of her journey from the Helios stable to the guest room in Camelot. Secretly, she was thrilled as she watched herself -- not a slave, not a slut -- but a carefree, beautiful young woman.

House Mistress Cruz never returned to the stable. Gabriel later told her that Cruz had been fired -- which meant that she would no longer serve at Helios and she would have to find another place to work. Sara ventured that there could be worse fates than to be a woman, free, exploring fabulous Las Vegas.

Gabriel laughed.

"You've got a pretty easy life, Sara," he said. "No parents nagging you to finish college, and you never have to figure out how you're going to pay the rent."

He opened the door to a luxurious suite at the apex of the pyramid, where the entire starting lineup for the NSU-LV men's basketball team was waiting for her to arrive. They paid to have the room, and Sara, for the entire night, just so that they could gang-bang her for a few hours ahead of their game against UC La Jolla that evening.