The Taking of Sarah MacDonnel
by John Savage
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 John Savage
Published by Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter I
Revolution
The burning city cast a red glow against the penthouse wall behind Sarah MacDonnel as she stood at the window, one hand holding the drape aside. There came to her on the sluggish evening breeze through the open window the mixed scent of sweet jasmine and acid smoke. The Embassy was two miles from the center of the capital city of Simboch, but she could easily see the buildings burning and hear the sporadic gunfire. It seemed at times as if the rioting might be moving closer, and she felt fear inside. An entire country was going up in flames and revolt, and there were no innocent bystanders. Not even the daughter of the American Ambassador.
Where the hell was Rick? He was supposed to provide protection for her, including evacuation if needed. Well, it sure looked to the beautiful daughter of the Ambassador as if evacuation was needed. And it would be needed pretty soon. Macho Rick, with his long blonde surfer locks and his carefully developed muscleman physique, had made a show of checking the load in his big magnum handgun, and then telling her to stay put while he got a car so they could leave the city. Sarah had locked the door behind him and watched the government-controlled television until the station suddenly went off the air. They had been playing public service announcements as if thousands of angry citizens were not at that very moment shooting the Palace guards and trying to oust a dictator. Then she took to watching the once-proud city go up in flames. The sharp crack of small arms fire provided the soundtrack.
With a nervous glance towards the suitcase sitting by the door, Sarah again wished that Rick would hurry back. Her hand tugged nervously at the string of pearls hanging down from her slender neck. When she caught sight of herself in the large mirror, she was surprised at the women who looked back. Her usual happy smile was gone, as were her usual bright colored clothes. Replacing them, at Rick’s insistence, was a black pants suit, low heels and a dark blue blouse, an outfit that would not stand out at night and would allow her to move quickly and unhampered. The cascade of golden hair around her shoulders stood out against the black material but she had no hat to hide it.
Yet again she cursed her decision to stay behind with her father when most of the Embassy staff had fled the country. At first it had been exciting to be an actual part of a revolution; the protests, the mobs, and skirmishes with police and troops. But that afternoon she had seen her first death and suddenly things were different. She had trouble ridding her mind of the image of a Marine guard standing only a few feet from her when a sniper’s bullet exploded his head and splattered her dress with his blood. She had screamed and fled back to their apartment. The revolution was suddenly not so very exciting at all.
The crack of handguns mixed with the staccato of automatic weapons fire masked the almost silent approach of the dark figure behind her, his footsteps further muted by the plush carpet. Only when he was directly behind her did she begin to turn. Suddenly a gloved hand clamped across her mouth, stifling the cry of surprise before it could form. She struggled, but male strength prevailed and she felt herself being forced down to the carpet. With his knee in the small of her back, he pinned her to the floor. His head came down close to hers, and he told her, “Make any noise and I’ll break your arm.”
Sarah tried to scream. The hand muffled it but suddenly she felt a pain in her right arm as he jerked it up on her back. A cry of anger turned to one of pain for he was none too gentle with the young woman. She ceased her struggles.
“I’m going to take my hand away,” the voice over her said. ‘Do not make any noise or I’ll hurt you far worse than this.” The hand slowly came away.
“Please, what do you want?” she said in a surprisingly calm voice.
Her head was pushed roughly into the carpet. “I said be silent!” he hissed. “Do not struggle or you’ll be hurt.”
Sarah could feel his weight and strength, and she knew she had no chance to fight against this man.
To her great relief, her arm was lowered down her back, but her other arm was pulled behind her and she felt the bite of thin cords upon her wrists. “Please don’t tie me up,” she begged.
His slap was a shock and surprisingly hard. Her ears rang for a second and the side of her face stung. Sarah, being an intelligent woman, shut her mouth.
Quickly her wrists were corded together with cruel tightness, and then the man was shifting around and she felt his hands sliding down her legs. In only a few seconds, her ankles were also corded together. He shifted again and she felt his hand gather her hair into a bundle behind her. He was pulling her head back by the hair. She would have cried out at the pain but something was suddenly and violently shoved into her mouth as it opened. Her head was let down, but she could feel his hands doing something at the back of her head and she realized that whatever it was in her mouth was held in by a strap around her head.
A new level of fear set in as she realized how helpless this man had made her in just a minute. Her wrists were solidly bound behind her, as were her feet, and she could not speak. Something filled her mouth, forced her jaw open, and prevented her tongue from moving or words from forming.
Shaking as hard as she could to dislodge him from her back, Sarah also tried to yell. What came out did not sound much like a call for help, and was not very loud. It also earned her a hard swat across the rear from a strong male hand. “I said be quiet, woman.”
As soon as his weight was off her, Sarah rolled over onto her back. Standing above her was the man who had bound her, but she could see little beyond his shape outlined against the red wall. His face seemed to be covered by some kind of a mask.
What did this man want? She could not ask with that gag in her mouth. What was he going to do? She feared that greatly. In all the twenty years of her life, she had never been handled like this or been so scared. Rape? Money? What did he want? He did not appear to be one of the natives. He was a little bigger than most of them, and his voice was wrong.
The dark shape bent over her and Sarah tried to wiggle away, but she could not escape his hands. They were gripping her shoulders and lifting her to her feet to stand there unsteadily. He bent and placed his shoulder into her middle, and then straightened, picking her up like a sack of potatoes. The string of pearls broke and tiny white spheres bounced all over the carpet. He carried her out of the apartment she had shared with her father for six months, into a night filled with turmoil and death.
The man and his captive exited the compound by the tradesman’s entrance. The Marine who had been on guard there was lying in the street. Streetlights were out, leaving only the red glow reflecting from the clouds to guide him, but that was more than enough. Sarah tried calling for help but the noises she could make were feeble and went unheard. The few staff members who remained were too busy inside to worry about a dark figure sneaking out the back.
The car was a big Mercedes, black in color and waiting for the man a block from the Embassy. Quickly the trunk was opened and Miss Sarah MacDonnel was dumped inside. The lid was slammed shut, making her even more of a prisoner than before. A moment later the powerful motor started and she could feel herself being driven away to some unknown fate she could only fear.
A handful of minutes later, Nick Reynolds returned to the apartment to find it empty. Sarah’s suitcase remained on the floor, but a quick survey of all the rooms failed to find the Ambassador’s daughter, and then he saw the pearls she had worn scattered all over the floor. Nick stood in the middle of the dark room and swore. He took off on a running tour of the compound. Sarah was nowhere to be found, but by then he expected that.
Chapter II
The Punishment Cage
The ride was long and most uncomfortable for the bound woman in the trunk of the Mercedes. The floor beneath her was not hard metal but a folded blanket or something similar that cushioned her a little although not nearly enough. The ride in such a car was normally smooth, but this one was rough and bumpy, indicating that the road beneath the wheels was uneven.
As she was being driven, a thousand thoughts filled her pretty head. Who was this man? And why did he want to kidnap her? She could not see his features through that black mask, but she had the definite impression that he was not a local. For one thing, he was too big. And the voice spoke English with no accent she could identify. None of the natives that she had met sounded like this man.
The answer to who he was would have to wait. More frightening was the question of why. Of course, the usual ideas filled her young head. She was a beautiful young woman with a very sexy body. She was well aware of the effect it had on men, and there were times when she had not been above using her charms to have her way. There was the very real possibility that she was being kidnapped to be raped. In fact, from what her father had told her while trying to persuade her to leave, she would be surprised if that did not happen.
Still, it seemed an excessive amount of trouble for this man to go through just to rape her. He could have forced her down on the carpet and done it right there. Or he could have dragged her off someplace private to do it. Unless... Sarah remembered the rumors she had heard of numerous young girls in that country who just disappeared. She had been told that they were sold into slavery. If any of it was true, there could be no doubt that this country was still stuck in the dark ages in some ways. One story was that the kidnapped girls were taken to some other Asian country and installed in brothels where they worked as prostitutes until they were no longer pretty enough to please their masters. What was that phrase she had heard once? ‘White slavery’, that was it. A woman forced into being a prostitute was called a white slave. She had thought it a funny term, but at this moment it was far from funny. Maybe she was being hauled off for just that purpose. No, it was not funny at all.
Sarah struggled against the thin cord binding her wrists, but soon gave up. They were simply too tight and hurt too much to fight, so she rode along in darkness and discomfort and the smell of rubber.
It had to be ransom, she told herself, hopefully. She was the daughter of a fairly wealthy man, and a politically important one, too. Someone was kidnapping her to sell back to Daddy. Or to put pressure on him for some political purpose. It had to be that. She desperately wanted it to be that, since either of those would mean that they would want her unharmed for eventual returned to Daddy. And that included untouched sexually. She hoped.
The ride continued until dawn. She could hear little beyond the drone of the road and one time some gunshots that sounded as if someone were shooting at the Mercedes. Then there was the sound of pavement being left for dirt roads and more bounces inside her trunk prison. That went on for quite a while as Sarah lay in misery. Her wrists hurt, as did her jaw. Whatever that was he had shoved into her mouth was forcing her jaw open wide, and the muscles on either side of her face were aching.
All journeys come to an end, and her kidnapping was no exception. Eventually the car stopped and the lack of noise and motion jolted her to full awareness. Minutes later, the lid opened and Sarah blinked in the morning sunlight. Standing over her was a tall man dressed in black. It was not hard to figure that he was the one who had kidnapped her. The mask was off now, revealing his strong features and wavy graying hair. He looked to be in his late thirties, save for graying temples set in the black hair. He had a strong chin and nose, but what impressed itself first upon anyone who saw him were his intense blue eyes.
“Welcome to Havenhurst, my dear,” he said to her. He lifted her out of the trunk to set her down on her feet. Sarah had trouble standing, but his hand remained upon her arm to steady her. She tried to speak, but the gag was still firmly tied in place.
“We can talk later. Right now you’ll be put somewhere safe. I have been driving all night and I’m tired. After we’ve both had some sleep, we’ll talk. Trang!”
It was then she noticed that they were not alone. Two of the natives, unusually tall ones, were standing nearby. The larger of the two came immediately upon being called. “Take her to the basement and secure her there,” he was told. Her captor then spoke some words in the Javanto language. The man, evidently named Trang, nodded, and two of the natives took hold of her arms. Sarah tried to shake them off, but with the ropes on her wrists and her ankles there was little she could do. One reached down and cut the ropes off her ankles. Before she could react, they were marching her towards a building only a dozen yards away. She had a brief impression of greenery all around a clearing and several large buildings, including the one towards which she was being led. She had no chance to gain any real impression of the interior before she was taken down some stairs and along a corridor. A plain door was opened, and she was dragged within.
It was a small room, with no windows and no furniture beyond a single item in the corner that at first she did not identify properly or understand its significance. While one held her, the other did something behind her head and she felt the pressure leave her gag. She managed to push out the wad of cloth gratefully, but before she could work her jaw to form words to tell these bastards what she thought of them, she was being forced to her knees. One man opened the lid on what she now realized was a cage constructed from very solid steel bars. She was pushed inside, and forced to bend almost in half to fit into it. It was only a little larger than her body. The lid clanged down, and she watched in horror as the heavy metal padlock was snapped shut.
“Hey!” she yelled as the men turned to leave her. “Don’t leave me like this! Hey! Get your asses back here and let me out!” She was almost screaming as the door to her new prison shut. There were no windows, and if there was a light they simply did not bother to turn it on. Sarah was left alone in the dark.
Inside the small cage, she twisted until she could put her feet against the door and push with all her might. The door did not budge. In anger, she pounded her feet against the steel bars but accomplished nothing beyond rattling the lock.
Her anger turned to frustration, which eventually faded into tears. Never had she been treated so roughly. Never in her life had she been so very helpless, and she did not like the feeling at all.
The cage was only about three feet tall, and that meant she could not sit upright. Standing was totally out of the question. There was a little room to wriggle around, and she soon found that the only halfway comfortable position was to lie on her side. Even then, she had to keep bent at the waist and bend her legs double. For a long time she cried in the darkness and discomfort.
Suddenly a bright light jarred Sarah and she realized she had been asleep. The light was from a single naked light bulb overhead. Sarah lifted her head and blinked until her eyes could focus. She was still tied, still locked inside that damned steel cage, and her body was stiff and sore. When she could see, there was that man again; the one who had kidnapped her right out of the Embassy.
“This is a shitty way to treat a girl,” she told him. “Let me out of here.”
“My, my, such a foul mouth for such a pretty girl,” he said in an amused tone.
“You’ll hear worse when my father catches you.”
“I doubt that,” he said evenly. “Your father has no idea where you are. And he’s busy with a full revolution on his hands, trying, no doubt, to protect American interests. Or, more likely, trying to get his hide out of the country before the rebels catch him.”
Sarah sniffed. “My father would never run.”
“He would if he were smart. You Americans are associated too closely with the former government. The people aren’t very happy with the former dictator or Americans. Running as fast and far as he can would be the wise thing. Just as you should have done.” He smiled down at her. “Did you think it would be fun to stand around and watch people die and a country torn apart?”
Sarah did not answer. The truth was that he was close to being right on. It had been interesting – right up until the previous night. “Let me go,” was all she could come out with. “I’m hurting.”
“I’m sure you are,” he replied, cheerfully. “Do you know what this cage is?” He paused only the slightest, and then went on, not really expecting an answer. “This is a punishment cage. The man who owned this estate before used it for his business of slave trading.” He paused to see if that evoked any reaction from her. It did not, so he continued. “I doubt you’ve heard of it, but the buying and selling of young females has always gone on in this country. And it still does. This is a big island, and many parts are not modernized the way Simboch is. In the tiny villages and backwaters, a pretty young girl can bring a lot of money to a poor family. So they sell them. After all, what else is a woman good for? They can’t work the fields the way a man can. To these people, a woman is good for cooking, having babies, and pleasuring yourself in. Nothing else. Many families are glad to get rid of excess girls. Does that shock you?”
Sarah twisted her bound wrists behind her as she told him, “I’ve heard of the white slave trade. It’s barbaric.”
“This is a very different culture to America,” he pointed out. “Different values. But, as I was saying, this plantation was used as a holding place and distribution center for slave girls. There is a whole complex of underground cells down here, and some rooms that were used to train the girls, or to punish them. From what I’ve been able to find out, a rebellious girl would be put in one of these cages, given only bread and water, and kept here for days on end. If the punishment was to be more severe, her hands and feet would be tied as yours are now. Can you imagine being left in your condition for four or five days? A week? I’ll bet you’d be less rebellious after that.” He grinned at her before continuing, “Fascinating set up. You should see the equipment. They must have made an art out of torturing young women. Did you know that I found a totally up to date and functional rack?”
“Fascinating,” she echoed in a tone that clearly said it was not.
“And a whipping post. And a pillory. And some tiny cages like the one in which you are still incarcerated, but smaller. Perhaps I’ll let you try all of them.”
A stab of fear shot into her with the sudden realization that rape or ransom might not be his intention. Or the worst that might happen to her. Was he kidding, maybe? She looked to his face for confirmation that he was only teasing a helpless girl, but the small smile she found there was not teasing. It was the smile of a man totally in control of the situation, and amused by the prospects.
“Why did you kidnap me?” she asked meekly.
“I saw you at the Embassy Ball last month,” he began. “You were beautiful in that tight black dress with that low cut neckline. I watched you flirt with the young men, teasing them with your long legs shown off so very well by those high heels. You impressed me very much. It was then that I decided I would have you for myself.”
Sarah grimaced. She did not like the turn this conversation was taking.
“Knowing, as I did, that the country was about to plunge into civil war and chaos, I waited and planned. When the time was right, I simply walked in and plucked you from the false safety of the Embassy while everyone was running around trying to evacuate. And here you are.”
“What do you want to do to me?”
He paused before replying, pursing his lips as if in deep thought. “That depends. Perhaps many things. Of course, I shall enjoy the sexual use of your body,” he noted with satisfaction the sour look upon her lovely young face. “And there are some other little games that I would like to play with you. Games that I have enjoyed playing with other woman at other times. And games for which this plantation is perfectly set up.” He paused dramatically before adding, “But games that go a lot farther than any I have played before. Maybe some serious torture...” He let the sentence trail off.
Sarah felt the blood in her veins turn to ice.
“A woman is much more lovely when she is in pain. Much more sexy.” His words were delivered in an even tone and only the slightest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but Sara felt as if he had wickedly sneered and laughed.
“Isn’t sadism the word for it?” she asked, somewhat surprised at her own boldness.
“Of course. And I am a sadist, most assuredly. I enjoy using and abusing women. Plain sex is so very boring, don’t you think?”
Sarah did not reply. Later, when she had a great deal of time with nothing to do, she would realize that she agreed with him. Being beautiful and sexy, and a bit on the wild side, she had enjoyed sex with many men during her young life. And it did become boring after a while. Sometimes she had wondered what could be done to “liven” it up. Something more than just trying another man who might prove to be not as good as the last, or maybe something a bit kinky.
Her captor went on, “It is my intention to keep you a prisoner here.” He gestured with one hand at the bare walls, but she knew that he also meant the rooms beyond and the implements of torture they contained. Fixing her with a steady gaze, he told her, “For as long as I am still amused with you.”
Sarah’s heart felt as if it had missed a beat. “And when you are no longer amused with me... You’ll let me go?” she asked in a weak voice.
He smiled at her. “You are so innocent. You know that young women are valuable. Can you imagine how much I could get for a beautiful American woman?”
“You can’t,” Sarah said, but without conviction. In a country where the legal system had just fallen apart, he might be able to do anything.
“You’ll see. Oh, by the way, my name is Greg. But you can begin calling me ‘Master’.”
“Master?” she whispered in disbelief. This was ridiculous. Stupid. Something out of a cheap porno book. Or a man’s sexual fantasies. It could not really be happening to her.
“That’s right: Master. Get used to it. Oh, and one other rule that I’ll set down right now. Don’t even think about escaping. You won’t be able to. But just in case, I’m making it a punishable offense to even try.” He smiled wickedly again. “I’m sure you’ll try, but at least you’ve been warned.”
Greg turned for the door.
“Wait! Don’t leave me like this. I’m very uncomfortable in here,” she pleaded.
“I’m sure you are. But soon you’ll be let out. Then we can see about turning your discomfort into real pain.”
The door closed behind him on a very desolate young woman.
* * * * *
The men who came for her about an hour later were natives. They spoke very little to her and seemed not to understand English, which was likely. Sarah had found the population of that nation did not embrace English as a second language the way others did, the classic example being the Japanese. She resented their hands upon her body as they dragged her out of the cage, but she did not try to fight them. She was almost grateful when one began unknotting the cords that had been tightly wound around her wrists for so long. When her hands came down to her sides, she was surprised to find that they were a dark color and immediately began a bad case of “pins and needles” that almost brought tears to her eyes.
When the rope had been taken off her ankles and she was helped up to her feet, she began to think of escape. Her limbs were finally free of those damned tight and thin cords. If she could disable these men, just for a few minutes, maybe she could dash out of that building. She had no idea where she was, but even hiding out in the jungle would be preferable to staying here to become the torture plaything of that madman. She was just about to kick one of them between the legs when her arms were grabbed from behind and she felt the bite of cold steel on her wrists. The clicking sound told her that she was now secured in a pair of handcuffs, and that her momentary chance for escape had gone. But she had to admit to herself that it never had really been there.
The rope that had been around her wrists was now tied around her neck and used as a leash. A none too gentle tug on that cord made her walk in the direction the man wanted. Her instincts told her to fight these men, to kick and scream, to do anything but walk calmly and docilely where they wanted to take her. And she might have given in to that desire, but she saw in their eyes that they were ready for her. She walked along and told herself that her time would come. Sooner or later, someone would make a mistake.
She was taken in a different direction from where she had been brought in, stopping in a room that looked partly like a shower. There were tiled walls and floor, and a drain. Several faucets lined the walls, along with hoses and a couple of metal chairs. A slender window high up on one wall admitted bright sunlight onto the cement portion of the room. The man who called himself Greg and who had ordered her to call him “Master” stood to one side. Another man was next to him, a giant of a man, many inches over six feet and of a great width. His features were Japanese, and Sarah immediately thought of those big Japanese wrestlers she had seen in some movies, although this one was not quite as fat.
She was taken to the side with the tiles and held in place there. Greg watched her for a long minute during which no one spoke. Sarah could not read his emotions, for his face was a blank, but she knew he was studying her body. A beautiful woman always knows when a man is appraising her body.
A few words in the native language prompted the two who had brought her in. One unlocked the handcuffs from her wrists while the other knelt, took one foot at a time in his hands and removed the shoe, and then began to tie her ankles together with a rope. Her hands were brought around in front of her and bound together with the rope taken from her neck. As they worked silently on changing her bondage, Sarah was trying to work out what would happen next. Greg had spoken of many torture devices in these rooms, was this one of them? What type of torture it could be, she could not comprehend.
When her wrists and ankles were bound, a fresh length of rope was produced and tied around the rope on her wrists. She watched as it was then thrown up and over a pipe that passed across the entire room near to the ceiling. The two men took the other end of the rope and stood by with it in their hands. Sarah had a sinking feeling in her stomach. It was obvious that they would pull on the rope and her hands would be lifted over her head. It would make her feel even more helpless, but there was nothing she could do about it.
They pulled, and she watched as her hands rose before her face and on higher until she could feel the rope tighten around her wrists, and then the strain on her arms as they pulled even more. Having no choice in the matter, she rose up onto the tips of her toes. There they stopped and tied the rope off to some kind of hook in the wall. Sarah was left dancing on her toes.
It was not comfortable to stand like that, and she knew that her hands would sooner or later become numb with most of her weight forcing the ropes to cut tightly into her wrists. That discomfort was not what worried her the most. It was what would come next that did.
Greg came forward then to stand before her. There was a smile on his face, the smile of a man totally in control and enjoying the scene. “Let’s see if you have as nice a body as that black dress hinted at.” He reached for the buttons on her blouse.
He had been expecting her to react, so when Sarah tried to kick him with her bound feet, he blocked it easily with his thigh and his hand left the button of her blouse to slap her face. The sound was sharp in the tiled room, as was her gasp of surprise and pain. “Don’t do that,” he told her.
Sarah sucked in air and put her feet back down. Slowly, he continued to unbutton the blue blouse and then he was pulling it out of her slacks. More than ample breasts restrained by a black bra were revealed. The man reached around behind her to unhook the bra strap. As he did, his face was near to hers and she could smell some kind of aftershave that reminded her of pine trees.
“Please don’t,” she said in a soft voice. He ignored her and brought the ends of the straps around in front. With a pocketknife, he cut the shoulder straps. When he stepped back to see what he had uncovered, he smiled with pleasure. The breasts on display were very large but quite firm. He noted how the large nipples stood out. It was from fear, he knew, but indistinguishable from the same arousal caused by sexual excitement. They were very hard and very nicely erect. There would be many things he could do to them. Painful things.
Sarah endured his stare, and that of the other three men in the room. She was used to men staring at her breasts, but not in a group. She might have been able to turn her body away, but she knew that they could easily force her to turn back. She was vividly aware of how helpless she was with her arms held high over her head.
An inner, unsuspected, sense of pride came to her. Sarah had as fine a pair of breasts as any woman ever had, and she knew the effect they had on males. Let them look, she told herself. They probably never saw a pair this good before.
They looked, and then Greg came over and weighed one in his hand to judge its firmness. He seemed satisfied. Sarah, on the other hand, had the impression that she had just been reduced to the status of a prize cow or some produce to be judged and rated but not respected.
The pocketknife that Greg had must have had a razor sharp edge, for it sliced through the waistband of her slacks easily. That done, he was carefully cutting down one side all the way to her ankles, quickly followed by the same on the other side. Her slacks were easily pulled away, leaving her clad only in a pair of black panties.
Sarah was feeling very strange, a turmoil of fear and excitement. She was most definitely not enjoying this, so the excitement must be something else, but she knew she was breathing hard and her nipples were standing rigid before her. She could feel a flush come over her face and wondered if she were blushing.
The knife came to the waistband of the panties, and then seemed to pause just inside as if to savor the moment when that thin material was about to be parted. A quick slice and one side was rent in two. Another slice and the panties were easily pulled out between her legs. It was obvious for all to see that she was a real blonde from the soft, golden curls that hid her sex. Sarah, completely naked, was a wondrous sight.
I am twenty years old, she told herself. I am an American citizen. I am the daughter of an ambassador. This cannot be happening to me.
The tight cord cutting into her wrists told her otherwise, as did the cool air against her bare skin. Sarah did not know if she wanted to scream or cry. She would have hurled abuse at them, but she knew it would do no good. And, even worse, it might amuse them.
What was next? Rape? Not too likely, unless they changed her position. With her body hanging by the wrists and her ankles tied together, she did not think rape was possible. Then what?
Greg spoke to one of the men, who immediately left. A minute later he returned. In his hands was a length of black leather. It took a disbelieving few seconds before Sarah admitted to herself that the thing he handed to Greg was, indeed, a whip. She stared at it as he took it in his hand. No! her mind screamed, he can’t do that!
“This is to show you that I am serious,” Greg told her. He casually pulled his arm back and swung forward. There was a swish, and then a cracking sound as the leather thong impacted against bare female flesh. Sarah yelled and jerked her legs up. A vivid red line began immediately to appear across both rounded globes of her bottom. She pumped her legs a few times, and then lowered her toes back to the floor. A tear was running down her cheek.
“See? Now, didn’t that hurt?” he asked her politely.
Sarah closed her eyes and did not reply. He knew damned well that it hurt. Anyone would know that.
Again that whip sliced at her bottom. And again. Six times it caused pain in her flesh. She was sobbing and dancing at the end of her rope by the end.
“I will leave it with only a few strokes for now,” he continued. “It was just a lesson to show you that I am serious. Tonight we’ll continue your lessons.” He turned to the men and gave orders before marching out.
Sarah was let down. Her ankles were untied and her arms lowered. Somehow the male hands upon her arms as they removed the ropes from her wrists were more repulsive than before. Perhaps it was the lack of protective clothing. They gave her no time to rub her wrists or consider escape. Her arms were gathered behind her back and secured there with the handcuffs. A rope was looped around her neck and she was marched back to the room with her little cage. They opened the lid and allowed her to step into the cage by herself. Telling herself that it was better than having them put their hands on her naked body, she stepped in, and then squatted down to fit. The lid was closed and locked, and Sarah MacDonnel was again a prisoner behind steel bars.
Chapter III
Riding the Beam
“Does that hurt?”
The reply was a low moan that filled the small room. Greg smiled. “Guess that’s answer enough,” he said.
Sara was not in the most comfortable of positions. In fact, she was very uncomfortable, rapidly heading towards downright painful. Her new Master and Owner, as he was amused to call himself, was introducing his slavegirl (as he called her) to another of the torture devices left behind by the previous owners of that plantation. It was simplicity in itself; just a wooden board set between two pedestals. The board was about two inches square and set on the pedestals so that one of the edges was straight up. The slave to be punished was simply made straddle that edge. As one can easily imagine, a slavegirl unfortunate enough to be made to sit upon a sharp wooden edge with all her weight pressing her most sensitive place into it, was a very sorry slavegirl. Her arms had been bound behind her back but with the hands pulled up between her shoulder blades where they were crossed and bound tightly with thin cord. The end of the cord was passed up and around her neck then tied so that any attempt to lower her arms would tighten the cord about her neck. Her ankles were spread wide in ropes tied to rings set in the corners of the floor with enough pressure to keep her legs straight. It was not a comfortable position. Not at all.
“Well, I’m going to go now,” Greg began, “but...”
He was cut off by a startled scream of “What!?”
“I said, I’m going to go now,” he repeated, trying hard to keep a straight face. The look of pure panic upon her face was priceless. The thought of being left alone while atop that terribly painful board was apparently rather frightening to the poor girl. “And I will. See you sometime later.” With a carefree wave, her captor was off, closing the door to the room behind him.
“Wait!” cried Sarah. “Wait! You can’t leave me here like this!” But her cries fell upon deaf ears and a closed door. “It hurts so much,” she added with a whine.
Immediately she began twisting and tugging at her bound wrists. If she could get them undone, then she could at least lift herself off that horrible edge. But the cords were tight enough to cut into her flesh and escape was simply not possible.
Her wrists hurt and her hands were becoming numb from the vicious struggles, but the cords did not yield and she remained a prisoner. Her cries of anguish and anger seemed very loud in the small room which, like those she had so far seen, was partly underground and had only a tiny slit for a window high up on the wall. The glass was dirty and allowed only a sickly gray light to filter through, a sad gloom that matched the emotion of despair in the room. Sarah shook her head and whined. Pleas and cries for help wanted to leap from her lips, but she held them within as useless, and concentrated on trying to free herself from that torture.
Finally she had to give up on her hands. Her fingers were growing numb and her wrists felt as if she had chaffed them raw on the thin cord. The cord around her neck was unpleasantly cutting in. With a groan, she gave up and let her fingers hang lifeless like the wilted petals of a neglected flower.
The ropes that were tightly bound around her ankles forced her legs into a wide vee. A few seconds of tugging demonstrated that she could not close her legs at all, and the numerous tight knots she could see against her slender ankles told her that she would not be working those ropes off, no matter how much she struggled.
“Please... Oh, please...” she whined to no one in particular. That this horrible man who wanted her to call him “Master” would not be back anytime soon, of that she had no doubt. This torture would not be effective if she were to be removed from it after only a few uncomfortable minutes. No, this was one that was meant to make a woman suffer, and the worst suffering would come only after she had sat with that sharp wooden edge driving itself into her most sensitive place for a time, during which sharp pains would shoot right up into her body. It felt to the unfortunate girl as if the wood were a dull knife trying to cut her into two halves up the middle.
Her fears were confirmed an hour later when she realized that the pain was changing but nevertheless relentless in its torment. Gone were the sharp jabs sent by tortured nerves, replaced now with a massive, although somewhat dull, ache down there. Only when she moved - even the slightest - did the stabbing pains burst into her again. She tried not to move.
Having no watch, and the only time keeper being the slow alteration of weak, gray light falling upon her, Sarah could not tell how long she had been astride that horrid wooden beam. It seemed like hours, maybe all day. She had to wonder just how long she would remain there. Unless it became days, she knew she would not die; only she already felt like she was.
Slowly she became aware of other pains creeping into her clouded consciousness. Her hips hurt from the unnatural position of having her legs spread harshly to the sides. The muscles in her thighs began a burning ache from the stress, and her lower back hurt, although she did not know why. It was simply a totally uncomfortable position, and yet it was one she must endure. The ropes ensured that.
At times she cried uncontrollably. A few times she succumbed to a fit of anger and frustration and fought the ropes violently - as violently as the restraints permitted her. Such emotional reactions only gained her fresh bursts of pain, and she was forced to suppress the only too natural urge to struggle.
Eventually it occurred to her that she did have the option of simply sitting there and suffering. She could not fall to either side, the wide spread legs prevented that, but maybe she could let her body lean forward or backward. Experimentally, she leaned forward, very much aware that her hands were useless. She was immediately rewarded with terrible pains from abused nerves, and she cried out. Slowly she continued the lean until she realized that the new position would bring her weight to bear upon a much more sensitive part of her than that between her vagina and asshole. If she were to go completely forward, until her head touched the board, she would shift her weight until the wood was cutting right into her vagina and probably even her clitoris. That area was already aching as if the nerves there were sharing the pain of those lower down. She returned to the straight up position.
With a sigh and moan combination, she began lowering herself backwards. She could feel the edge of wood creeping between her ass cheeks, and knew that the area around her anus would be suffering soon. At least it would remove some of the pain from the middle. Without hands, it was not easy to control her lean backwards. Past a certain point, she could feel her body wanting to fall back, and she could only keep herself under control by a great strain of her stomach muscles. But then there came a point beyond which her trembling muscles could no longer hold her. With a gasp of both surprise and pain, her body arched backwards and she felt the sharp edge of wood hit the back of her head. It seemed to her as if her backbone might snap, but the arch in her body did have the effect of shifting the pain. As she lifted her head and allowed her shoulders to settle onto the sharp wooden edge, she began to feel the renewed screams of nerves awakening after being pressed into numbness. And new pains came from the freshly uncomfortable position. The bent backwards position placed her body in a terrible arch, not only of her back, but also straining her thighs terribly. The idea crossed her mind that perhaps she had traded one torture for a worse one, but when she tried to lift her body back into the upright position, she found that it was beyond her capability. Maybe the hours of agony had sapped her strength. Her muscles trembled and failed to lift her body. She let herself settle back down with a moan.
She was crying when Greg opened the door.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked, casually.
Sarah tried to talk but found her throat and mouth dry. “Please...” she managed to force out. “How long...?”
“What, no ‘Hello, Master?’ No greeting for the man who owns you. Just a demand to know how long you’ve been riding this beam? Hardly the manners of a good slavegirl.”
She wanted to hurl insults at him, but the words died in the cloud of pain as he lifted her body back into the upright position. She moaned loudly. He made sure that she was balanced before taking his hands away. The suffering girl looked down at him with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “In case you’re wondering, you’ve been riding there for...” He consulted his watch, “two hours and six minutes now.” Sarah whined weakly. It had only seemed like all day.
“Now I’d like you to help me with a little test,” he told her cheerfully. “I have here...” He pulled two items from his pocket. “Two clips. This first one is a wooden clothespin, the kind used to hang washing out to dry. As you can see, the jaws are made of smooth wood, but the spring appears to be strong enough to really bite the soft flesh of a girl.” He grinned at her. Sarah was not smiling. She had a fair idea just what “soft flesh” he was talking about.
“And this is one that I got out of the garage. I think it’s called an ‘Alligator clip,’ because of the narrow jaws lined with tiny, very sharp teeth. It’s used for something with the electrical system... I think. But it should work out quite well for my purpose, don’t you think?” He went on without waiting for a reply. “Now, I’m going to put one of these on each nipple. I’ll come back later and by then you will be able to tell me which hurts worst. Okay?”
Sarah glared at him but did not speak. He might have the power to torture her, but she did not have to play his stupid verbal games as well.
The wooden clip was first. Sarah watched it coming close to her right nipple and tried to twist away from it, but her mobility was severely limited. Considerable fresh pain was generated between her legs by the move. Besides, he only had to reach a little farther to capture the poor nipple within the wooden jaws, so her twisting had accomplished nothing.
She was surprised how much raw pain that wooden clip could cause. Her nipple immediately cried out. Surprisingly, it seemed to her as if her flesh there was on fire. “It burns, it burns,” she uttered in a shocked tone. Then she tried to shake it off. Had she hands to help, she could have gotten it off easily. Or if she were tied so she could rub her breast against something, then she could have rid herself of the pain. But she could not, and fresh tears sprang from her eyes. “Oh, please, Sir, take it off. It hurts so much,” she pleaded.
“Nonsense,” was his reply. “It hurts, true, but not all that much. You’re such a sissy.”
Her immediate impulse was to tell him that he could just try it himself if he thought her a coward. But she held back - wisely, as it happens. Insubordination was one of the sins that demanded a punishment of its own for the unfortunate slavegirl who dared to talk back to her Master.
“Wait until you feel this one,” he continued, and opened the tiny jaws of the alligator clip so she could see the tiny teeth lining each steel edge. Sarah sucked in a breath and held it. Slowly he brought the clip nearer to her left nipple. She turned her body as much as allowed by her restraints, but the innocent nipple was within easy reach for the man. With eyes unable to look at anything else, she saw the jaws surround her rigid button of flesh. With a horrible slowness they closed. She felt the first touch of sharp metal against her firm flesh and shivered in fear. A dozen pinpoints of sharp pain appeared on both the top and bottom of her nipple. And still the jaws closed. “Oh....!” she cried. But she could not look away. She saw the flesh indent, then break under the pressure of the strong metal spring. “Shit!” she yelled. “That’s ripping my skin! Get it off!”
The naked woman’s cries were most sincere, for the clip was causing her so much pain that she forgot totally about the wooden clothespin on her other nipple. His fingers left the clip and Sarah immediately tried to shake it off. The movement only made it hurt her more. With fear-filled eyes she looked to the man who was causing her so much pain, and begged, “Please take it off I’ll do anything you want. Oh, please, it hurts so much!”
Greg smiled. This torturing a woman was heady stuff, and he was soaking it all in. Such a sense of power, he told himself. Incredible! And wonderful.
Sarah had her head bent and was trying to blow on the tormented nipple. Her fingers waggled uselessly behind her back as if wanting to help, but, of course, they were unable to do anything.
Greg took a step back, keeping his eyes upon that lovely young woman. The pain in her eyes was priceless. Her body strained against the ropes he had so carefully placed upon her limbs. Tense muscles made her look even lovelier. She was a very healthy young woman in fine shape. Even the muscles of her flat tummy were taut. For a few seconds, she actually tried to reach the clip with her tongue, bending her head down and stretching her tongue out as far as it would go. She was unable to reach either clip, and finally straightened up with a cry of anguish, not realizing how erotic the act had been for the male watcher.
“Please... I’ll do anything you want. Do you want to fuck me? I’ll lie down and spread my legs.”
Greg smiled. “I can screw you any time I want. You’re my property,” he told her. It amused him the way she fell back on the age-old feminine defense of sex. Let the male have sex with you, and you had control over him. Or so they thought.
He reached between her legs with one hand and dug his fingers into the furry patch there. She gasped loudly for he was none too gentle. “You have nothing to offer,” he told her. “This pussy? I already own it. And I’ll do anything I want to it. Give it pain or pleasure.” He dug in hard enough to bring a cry to her lips. “See? Offering your body is nothing. I own it.”
Sarah was worn out by hours of riding upon that painful beam. All the fresh pain of those clips, plus his fingers bringing bursts of renewed pain between her legs, was almost too much. With tears flowing down her cheeks to fall onto her torture breasts, she pleaded in a pathetic whine, “Please. Oh, please. It hurts so much. What have I done to deserve this?”
He took his hand away. “Nothing,” was his reply. “Nothing at all. Except, of course, for being a beautiful and very sexy woman.”
“Why are you hurting me so much?”
“Because I enjoy it,” was his honest answer.
Sarah moaned.
“And now I’ll let you have some time to yourself. Do be sure to compare the pain from the two clips so you can report to me when I come back.”
“NO! Don’t go. You have to take these things off me. Look, I’m bleeding! It’s destroying my nipple!”
“I wouldn’t call a few tiny spots of blood ‘bleeding to death’. And, besides,” he added as he stepped through the door, “if you don’t like them - just take them off.” He was grinning as he closed the door.
Sarah groaned and tried again to shake the horrid things off. “You bastard!” she called out after him, but in a very weak, hurt voice. “You bastard. Someday you’ll pay for this.”
Greg returned in fifteen minutes, but it seemed much longer to Sarah. She looked up with glassy eyes when he entered, and did not utter a word. The pain had subsided to an intense ache that she could barely endure. Her heart did a little leap for joy when she saw his hand reach for the metal clip on the left breast. He was going to remove it! The pain would stop. Wonderful!
What surprised Sarah was how much it hurt when he took the clip off. The tiny teeth departing from her flesh made the nerves cry out again, and then the returning circulation awoke nerves that had become numb. Her nipple pounded with fresh pain. Then he was taking the wooden clip off. The pain from that one was not as bad, but still enough bring additional tears to her eyes.
“So...” he began, tossing the two clips up and down in his hand, “which hurt more?”
Sarah wanted to tell him to go to hell. Instead she informed him - totally honestly - that the metal clip was far worse than the wooden one.
Greg nodded. It was what he had expected, both from common sense, and from his experiences with tormenting women in the past. This was not, after all, the first time he had put clothespins on a woman’s nipples, but the alligator clip was new - and most effective.
“I’m glad that you didn’t lie to me about this.” He paused to smile at her, and then continued, “Your reward will be that you get to wear the clothespins instead of the alligator clips.”
Having said it, he reached into his pocket, extracted another clothespin and then proceeded to clip both of them onto her sore nipples. The pain was enough to make her gasp with the wooden jaws closed on the nipple that had been captive to the alligator clip. The flesh there was very sore.
“Please?” she asked in a very respectful voice, “Haven’t I suffered enough today? Please let me down.”
“What are you suppose to call me?”
“Sir. I mean... Master.”
“That’s better.” He pulled a length of rope from his pocket and fashioned a sliding loop in the end of it. Reaching out, he placed the loop over her head and tightened it down around her neck. Her eyes grew wide with fear. He then passed the rope under the beam and began slowly pulling on it. Sarah felt the rope tightened around her neck, and was forced to lean forward when it threatened to cut off her air. Slowly but relentlessly he pulled on the rope. And just as slowly Sarah found herself leaning forward until she feared she might fall in that direction.
As she leaned, the shifting of her weight brought the area where the sharp edge of the beam cut into her forward. Now it was trying to slice into her pussy, and the pain increased. Eventually, with her head almost touching the beam, the hardwood was crushing her poor little clit.
“Ohhh, you’re killing me! Stop this!” she cried.
The man ignored her pleas and tied off the rope. Then he stepped back for a moment to enjoy the view. Sarah was not a happy camper. It seemed as if every muscle in her body was tense, on the verge of trembling. Her golden tresses fell around her face and the beam to hide the fresh tears, but they could not hide her sobs. “Why, why, why? Why are you doing this to me? I don’t deserve this.”
“As I told you before, because I enjoy it.”