The Enslaving of anna

Chapter 8

Charlene and Robby Clarkson, anna's parents, were an intermittent but irksome nuisance. From the time anna announced to them that she was moving in with me, they were bent on convincing her it was a bad idea unless and until I was ready to propose marriage. Not that they were necessarily opposed to cohabition before marriage; they were well aware that it's now the norm and had, in fact, done it themselves. Nor were they displeased that she had hooked up with a doctor for a boyfriend. Their concern seemed to be prompted by their natural desire to look after the best interests of their naïve daughter who had a reputation for impulsive behavior, particularly since she had also informed them that we had decided she should drop out of college. (Actually, it was my decision alone. Attending college was incompatible with her training for slavery.) Naturally, they could not be told about our actual relationship, but anna had assured them that we had signed our own special contract in lieu of a marriage contract and that our contract suited her just fine.

A non-marital contract fell far short of suiting Charlene, however. "Ms. Clarkson and boyfriend" in no way compared to "Dr. and Mrs." in her mind as an appropriate family reference. She had a lot to say about anna's dire future should something happen to me and she were stranded without a college education. anna's response was that I was hardly poor, and the contract provided for her future in the event of my demise. (It was a sweetly told lie, of course. What I had actually told anna was that I would make provision for her in five years if she continued to please me, but that it would be at a time and in terms of my choosing as her owner.) Robby seemed less concerned with her dropping out of college (I suspect he was not all that unhappy to be relieved of the financial burden), but both he and Charlene worried endlessly about "just what kind of protection" this contract gave anna. How binding is it? What if I decided to seek greener pastures ("like so many men do!")? Their misgivings were definitely not lessened by our refusal to show them the contract. But anna was commendably adamant. "It's a private matter between Daniel and me," she told her parents. "We both agreed to the terms of the contract and we're going to stick with it. You and Daddy will have to be satisfied with the fact that I am supremely happy, totally in love, well cared for, and would never swap my contract with Daniel for a mere marriage."

In terms of their love for their daughter, the Clarkson's trepidations were well justified. If they had known just how well, they would have made big trouble, so it was important to keep them in the dark. More precisely, it was important that their daughter keep them in the dark. anna had made her choice when she signed the Slavery Contract and I held her to it. To begin with, I ordered her to write a note in her own hand explaining that she had decided to spend some time in Asia to expand her cultural horizons. I kept it locked up as insurance; it would be used to explain her disappearance, if that became necessary. I made it clear to anna that if her parents' meddling caused serious trouble, she would, indeed, disappear. I would sell her to an Asian Master of my acquaintance and she would never see her parents or me or her homeland again. "If you think I can be cruel," I warned her, "wait till a Cambodian slave Master binds your arms behind you, nails your tits to a railing, and makes you stand there for twelve hours being periodically whipped, caned and buggered by paying clients. anna's love-hate relationship with pain fell well short of that prospect, so she was careful to keep her parents ignorant of her slavery.

As long as they stayed in their own home, which was several states away, there was no problem. I simply restricted anna's contact with them to E-mail only. I was always present to censor her messages because she did not have the password for the computer. The phone was off limits to her except for emergency calls to me. Incoming calls were intercepted by an answering machine with Caller I.D. and everything said on the phone was monitored and recorded by a device in my locked office. anna made only one attempt to cheat on the no-phone rule and the punishment was so brutal she never touched the phone again without a direct order to do so. I had hogtied her with her wrists bound to her ankles behind her and suspended her four feet off the floor for five hours. What made it truly cruel was that I taped headphones to her ears and piped in an endlessly repeated loop of Sean Paul's "Dutty Rock." By the time I took her down, she was hysterical from the physical and psychological torment. But she learned her lesson.

It was the visits from her parents that were the most trying. As long as they were in our house, anna had to be dressed and most of our normal activities had to be curtailed, including her training. It was not a healthy situation. But anna had to be the one who discouraged such visits. If I forbade them to come, it would identify me as their enemy and intensify their meddling. That wouldn't do. It would have been so easy simply to order anna to send them away because she would have done it. I knew, however, that she needed a more self-serving motivation to do it right.

I employed several subtle prods, beginning with the need to let her wear something in her parents' presence. All I permitted her were simple, sleeveless dresses, all short in the skirt and low cut at the top. She was allowed to wear nothing underneath. In fact, I had disposed of all her bras and undergarments at the beginning of her training, and given away most of her sweaters, sweatshirts, jeans and shorts. The dresses and tops remaining were of a thin enough material to cling to her body and accent the hard points of her nipples. Her mother became obsessed with the risque nature of her attire within five minutes of her first visit.

"Aren't you embarrassed to go around dressed like that. And my God! No underwear! People will take you for a slut! Didn't I raise you better than that? Where did you pick up such trashy habits?"

"I dress like this because Daniel likes me to dress like this and I don't care what anyone else thinks. I dress to please Daniel. If others don't like it, they don't have to look."

"But people do look. You should have more self-respect."

"Panties give you self-respect?"

"Dressing like a whore and flashing your privates in public is not something nice girls do. It's indecent!"

"If you don't think I'm nice enough or decent enough to be around, you don't have to stay here."

"It's not what I think. I'm your mother. It's what other people will think of you. Do you want people to think you have no morals, that you're just a cheap strumpet?"

"As far as I'm concerned, morals are how you treat other people, not what you wear under your clothes."

"Does your . . . boyfriend . . . really want all his professional associates and friends to think he's living with a slut?"

And so it went. It was a painful burden of maternal criticism for anna to bear and she grew weary of it quickly.

Another consequence of those visits was that anna could not be allowed to take for granted the privileges she was granted while her parents were in the house lest she come to think of their presence as a reprieve from her duties as a slave. I therefore instituted certain offsetting punishments.

For the privilege of eating at the table she was required each night at bedtime to stuff a sock in her mouth, bend over and receive three strokes of the cane for each meal. She decided to skip lunches.

For the privilege of closing the bathroom door while I was in the house, two more strokes for each time she did so. She learned to hold her bladder quite well and to keep a basin under the bed.

For the privilege of wearing clothes all day, she was required to sleep nude on the bare floor at night. No pillow, no blanket. Just the hardwood floor and her chains.

Her increasingly sore bottom and uncomfortable nights were strong incentives for anna to discourage her parents' desire to come visit. As a bonus, every time she succeeded in deflecting a visit or cutting one short, I rewarded her with a week of dining at the table and sleeping in my bed. During that week I also restricted play scenes in the dungeon to light floggings, the kind that always turned her on.

But visitations were not the only times anna's mother tried to undo those practices of anna she did not agree with or understand. Another thing that annoyed her was that anna refused to answer the telephone, letting the machine take the message and leaving all the callbacks for me to do. Obviously, anna could not explain that she was simply carrying out a standing order from me because that would have made no sense at all to her strong-willed mother. Why would anna allow herself to be bullied into abiding by such an apparently nonsensical rule? It drove her crazy to see anna ignoring all phone calls except those from me, especially when the caller was asking specifically for anna. It drove her even crazier when she herself called to talk to anna and could only reach the machine. She knew anna was there in the house and was not picking up. One day she decided to trick anna into answering the phone by shouting a message that her father had had an accident. Naturally, anna, assuming the worst, grabbed up the phone. The "accident" turned out to be a knife cut he sustained while peeling an apple.

Upset at having been duped by her own mother but aware that I monitor every phone conversation, anna confessed her error at the evening's debriefing.

"What did you do about it?" I asked her.

"I was furious!" she answered with some heat. "I told her never, ever to call me again for any reason. If there's a real crisis, she's to call you at your office because I won't believe anything she says on the answering machine ever again! I hope that was the right thing to say, Master. I don't want to have her bothering you there, but I didn't know what else to say."

"That was fine. If she calls me there and it's not an emergency, I will make sure she never does it again. You understand, however, that you did disobey a direct order. There is no provision in that order that allows you to answer the phone for any reason, only if the call is from me."

"Yes, Master. I disobeyed. I'm sorry." Her voice was getting smaller.

"Do you agree that you deserve to be punished for that infraction?"

She gave a little resigned sigh. "Yes, Sir."

"Do you agree that because you were the victim of your mother's deceit and you were understandable upset about your father, the punishment should be less than severe?"

Her eyes brightened. "Yes, Master! That would be most kind of you, Master. I really did think he'd been seriously hurt. I forgot myself. I won't do it again! I promise."

"I'm going to divide your punishment in two parts, anna. The first will be ten lashes with the single-tail whip tonight in the dungeon. Five to your back and five to your front. The second phase of the punishment will take place tomorrow. You will spend the day, a full twelve hours, restrained with a special iron bar shackle. Do you agree that these are appropriate punishments?"

anna was very familiar with the single-tail whip and knew the pain it delivered could vary from minuscule to unbearable. She had never seen the iron bar restraint but undoubtedly thought it the lesser of the two threats. She also knew better than disagree. She had tried that once and regretted it. She answered wisely.

"Yes, Master. If it pleases you, please punish me in whatever way you think I deserve."

I sat and stared at her in silence for a while, making her more tense. She was so beautiful in her vulnerability! It was amusing watching her attempts to appear calm while anticipation of the whipping and the unknown misery to follow was obviously making her stomach churn. The single-tail whip, which anna calls a bull whip, is a vicious number that can caress with a teasing lick or sear like red hot barbed wire. It could produce a nervous sigh or a scream of intense agony. She would, of course, have no influence over how I chose to use it and no way to escape its fearsome touch. I always restrained her well when I used the singletail.

When I had decided she was sufficiently keyed up, I led her down to the dungeon, locked her wrist cuffs to a small block and tackle and hoisted her up until her feet cleared the floor. I bound her ankles and knees together to make her feel a little more helpless. I regretted having to hurt her for her mother's perfidy (how else would a loving daughter respond to such an announcement?), so I prefaced the punishment by first kissing her on each nipple and then her mouth, whispering in her ear that I loved her. She nodded and looked at me with heartbreaking sadness. Then I stood to one side to deliver the five lashes to her back and bottom. She took them well, only gasping a little with each stroke. I rotated her a hundred and eighty degrees and gave her five more on her breasts and belly. She was weeping a little at the end, but had managed to avoid screaming. It had only been a moderate whipping, raising ten bright red stripes but no serious welts. Still, the kiss of the bull whip is never negligible. When I had taken her down and freed her from her bonds, I gathered her in my arms and kissed her again. She smiled up at me through her tears so lovingly that I could not resist bending her face-down over a stool to relieve my hardened condition.

I located the iron bar shackle I had promised and gave it to anna to carry up to the bedroom. Its function was clear enough and this gave her time to contemplate the ordeal ahead of her. The bar was about a yard long with short, humped iron strips bolted to each end and another two equally spaced along the bar. The humps in the strips were designed to trap wrists and ankles against the bar. We stopped at the bathroom where I allowed her to slake the thirst developed by the whipping. She consumed a full glass of water, giving no thought to future consequences.

Once in the bedroom, I ordered her to sit on the floor while I secured her ankles in the outside clamps and her wrists to the inside clamps, tightening the nuts on the bolts with my fingers. This left her doubled over, her hands and feet hanging over the outer edge of the bar. She remained there on the floor through the night, chained to the bed as usual but forced into a grotesque fetal position by the bar. She tried in vain to find a tolerable position for sleeping and when her groaning disturbed my own sleep, I stuffed a sock in her mouth and buckled a leather strap in place to hold it there.

In the morning anna was tipped on her side and still whimpering through her soaked gag, but I left her there as I went about making my own breakfast. I called Jason Moore, one of the guests at the Collaring Ceremony and asked if he could spare mya, one of his two slaves, to come over and keep an eye on her while I was at work. mya was a sturdy girl, about five foot ten, who doubled as a Domme in some of his scenes and with his more submissive slave, oriana. I wanted her as a kind of baby sitter who could pick anna up and carry her out of the house in an emergency. (It wouldn't do, in the event of a fire, to have my live-in lover found in the ashes shackled to an iron bar.) Jason readily agreed, with the understanding that I would loan anna to him on some future occasion to satisfy his own purposes. mya arrived just before I left for the office and I instructed her that she was not to help anna or talk to her. She was there only to prevent any disasters. anna would likely sense her presence, but she was not to have the comfort of communication or aid. mya nodded and beamed with an evil smile. She was a striking woman. I decided I would make further use of her later, before returning her to Jason. Why not? It was only fair. He would get plenty of milage out of anna when it was time to return the favor.

 

anna's journal. June 17

Oh God! my mother really did it this time! Got me in deep shit! i love Mom and Dad but it's gotten to the point where i wish they wouldn't come here any more. Or maybe just for one day at a time.

At first it was just ragging on me for my clothes. Shit, if she knew i normally spend all day every day in the nude, she'd really blow a gasket! It was the lack of panties that really got to her, though. And i'd hoped she wouldn't notice!

"How can you go around like that?" she kept asking. "Don't you have any shame?"

"Mom," i told her, "women went around without underwear for millennia! What's the big deal? Historically speaking, bras and panties are a very recent affectation."

"It's disgusting! I thought I raised you proper."

"There's no law that says you have to wear panties."

"But civilized people DO! Every time you sit down you put your private parts on display!"

"Oh nonsense. I always keep my knees together in public."

"What if the wind should blow that skimpy skirt up?"

"So someone would get a cheap thrill. So what?"

"It's indecent! Don't you care about your reputation!"

"i only care about what Daniel thinks of me, and He prefers me to dress this way. He says it's healthier to let the air get to my genitals, and He's a doctor. Do you know i haven't had a yeast infection since He threw away my panties? You should try it."

"I have more self respect! Look at you! your nipples are almost visible through that flimsy material. you should be embarrassed!"

"Why should i be embarrassed? i'm a woman and women have nipples. Besides, you can't see them. You can only see the impression of them. If someone can't deal with that much reality, they should avert their eyes."

"You're going to make yourself a laughingstock, a social pariah. If you dress like a slut, people will treat you like a slut. You won't be welcome in decent society."

"So far, i'm more than welcome everywhere i want to be welcome."

"How can you stand to look at yourself in a mirror, dressed so cheap?"

"Cheap? This dress is far from cheap! Do you have any idea how much Daniel spends on my wardrobe?"

"I don't care what it costs. It's cheap. Don't you ever notice how people look at you in the stores, with your high heels and your lewd dresses half way up to your crotch and your boobs hanging half out? You look like you belong on a street corner leaning on a lamp post."

Etc. Etc. But that stuff i can deal with. She's been complaining about my clothes since i entered puberty. Now, at least, i can pass part of the blame for my "bad taste" on to Master. But the thing that really brought the shit in contact with the fan was the matter of my not answering the phone. Oh my God! It drives her nuts that i'll pick it up only if Master is calling. It especially fries her when she's the one calling. She knows i'm here most of the time, but even when she identifies herself through the machine i don't pick up. i can't. Master has absolutely forbidden it. That cuts no ice with her, of course.

So yesterday she decided to trick me into answering by saying my father had had an accident. Gullible me, i disobeyed Master and picked up. Turns out Dad had cut his finger on a knife. What a bitchy thing for Mom to do! Naturally, i had to confess it to Master and suffer the consequences. i deserved the punishment, of course, but oh God! It was dreadful!

It began with a whipping. Ten strokes with the bull whip while i hung from the ceiling like a side of beef. i really hate the bull whip, but i managed not to scream. Thankfully, Master didn't hit me terribly hard with it, and He was very sweet afterward, wiping away my tears with his finger and telling me He loved me. He even bent me over a stool and fucked me.

But the second part of the punishment was much worse! There's this thing he calls a bar shackle. It's a heavy iron bar a couple of feet long with four iron cuffs that bolt on to it. He made me carry it upstairs to the bedroom, like Christ carrying his cross. He clamped my ankles and wrists to it so that my legs were spread the width of the bar and my hands were about eight inches apart in the middle. There was no padding on it; just cold, hard iron. i was sitting on the floor beside the bed, chained to it as usual, although i don't know where he thought i could have gone doubled over like that with my elbows between my knees. And this is how i was going the spend the next twelve hours!

After about half an hour my shoulders ached, my wrists and ankles were sore and my bum was burning where i was sitting on the stripes made by the bullwhip. i flopped over on my right side so i could at least rest my head on the floor, but the awkward, hunched-over position with my left foot in the air soon created a whole new aggregation of pains. Within an hour i was so miserable i began to make little groaning sounds despite my efforts not to. i knew it would wake Master up, and it did. Soon there was a sock strapped into my mouth. Now, in addition to the wretchedness of my twisted body, i couldn't swallow properly and was drooling on the floor. All night long i kept flopping from one side to a sitting position, then to the other side, trying to shift the focus of pain, trying to make my overall suffering more bearable.

In the morning Master ignored me, making his own breakfast and leaving the house while i continued to languish on the floor cuffed to the iron bar, crying at the prospect of spending the entire morning with no relief from the growing agony! On top of my other miseries, my bladder had begun to demand emptying. i had drunk a full glass of water last night to offset the dehydration that happens leading up to and during a whipping. The fear and the pain make me perspire like a blacksmith. By about three o'clock in the morning i already had to go the bathroom, but, of course, could not. By seven-thirty my teeth were chattering from the pressure. By ten o'clock i was whimpering and rocking on my bottom trying to hold it in. When would the twelve hours be up? My wrists and ankles were raw; my back, shoulders and neck on fire. i couldn't remember when the twelve hour count had started. Ten-thirty? Eleven?

It was about then — around ten — that i heard someone moving stealthily behind me. Master never does that! My heart stopped for a beat, then began pounding furiously as fear unleashed a torrent of adrenalin. Whoever it was and whatever he had in mind, i was totally at his mercy. i tried to look over my shoulder, an automatic if useless reaction, but my over-stressed muscles wouldn't cooperate. A hand was placed on my shoulder. i guess i tried to scream because a strangled, squeaky noise emerged from behind the wet mass filling my mouth, and i tipped over in a panicky evasive action. Lying on my side i could now recognize my "assailant." It was mya, one of Master Jason's slaves.

She just stood there smiling down at my panic, the twit! Desperate to have her remove the gag so i could explain the imminent explosion of my bladder, i made burbling noises and wiggled furiously in my restraints. Her smile broadened, but her eyes hardened. She tipped me back up on my ass and pressed a hand on my tummy, raising her eyebrows in a question mark. "Hmmpph, hmmph, hummph!" I said, nodding vigorously, even as the added pressure forced a trickle of pee past my straining sphincter. She nodded back, turned and strolled out of the room. i rocked in place for an eternity, weeping in frustration, waiting for her to return, holding back the tide. Why hadn't she simply picked me up and put me on the potty? She's a big, strong girl! Works out every day! She could easily have lifted me and my iron bar! A few minutes later mya sauntered back in with a sauce pan sloshing with water and placed it under my right hand where it projected through the iron restraint. Still wearing that malicious grin, she started cupping handfuls of warm water over my hand. It was diabolical and broke the remnants of my will. Within seconds the sphincter gave way and the contents of my distressed bladder gushed all over the floor. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight of her laughing at my humiliation.

i sat weeping in my own pee for another half hour until my Master came home and released me. He and mya hosed me down and massaged my badly stressed body until i could walk and move normally again. Then Master made me clean up the mess i had made on the bedroom floor.

my reward for enduring all that, though, was lovely. Master set up a three-way on the bed with mya squatting over His face so he could eat her while she sucked on my breasts and I rode his staff. Then mya and i traded places for a while and i got to be eaten by Master. That felt so good it was hard to remember i was supposed to be nursing on mya's gorgeous globes. Finally, He put mya on her back with me on top heading in opposite directions so that my tits were over her mouth and her tits jutted up into my mouth. To make it more interesting, he had us stretch out our arms and strapped hers to mine. Then while mya and i suckled each other, Master took turns fucking first me, then her. i think i came four or five times before He separated mya and me so he could ejaculate in her mouth. He ordered her not to swallow it, but to transfer it to my mouth so I could swallow it. That was a new experience! But the best thing is, Master let me sleep in his bed and make love to him every night for a week.

As i look back on what i've just written, i confess i don't understand why i ever agreed to put up with such horrendous suffering or why it always arouses me. Yet i thrill with the fear and anticipation of it, and when it's over, i revel in the memory of it and ache for more. And playtime tortures, bad as they can be, are never enough. Somehow i always find a way to get in real trouble so Master has to punish me again. Severely.