Fledgling Slave Ch. 02

The mansion they inhabited, built originally a century prior to which it stood, was in fine state. And apart from minor modifications, mainly to the second floor, the structure remained intact. Divided into five levels of definite importance, each floor of the dimly lit stately home spawned numerous rooms; each room a facet of the importance it served.

It may be sagacious to speak firstly of the second floor which engulfed six rooms numbered sequentially in descending order, an order necessary to ensure each slave knew of their importance both in the house and among each other. Each room boasted apparatus for specific levels of training, from subtle and intriguing to despotic and sublime. The house, each room, every slave and staff member and all of its functions ran just as a clock would tick. Each second a faithful click and a chime at every devoted hour. Second built upon second, hour upon hour; a natural order.

To each room a slave was assigned, and to each slave, the number of the room. Slaves were addressed by their assigned numbers, unless told otherwise; a common consequence of the slightest misdemeanor or whilst in preparatory training in room six. (Room six occupants received the unblended name of 'Slave' before moving on to room five, henceforth given the assigned name of 'Five', 'Four' in room four and so on). Room One which accommodated One, a master in training and slave to Lord Fanshawe, was the concluding room before First Judgement.

***

No sooner had he muttered those tender words to his fledgling slave, than the creak of room one's oak door swinging open filled the room. Involuntarily, he yielded to the tall stout figure stood within the frame; kneeling, his solid bottom in the air, arms sloped against the floor and head cast down. Slave, still trussed atop the cable drum, a shadow of exquisite pain shooting through her sex and skin taut from a welcomed breeze seeping in through the open door, bowed her eyes to the floor for she did not know what else was expected of her.

The dark figure stepped into the spill of moonlight shining mutely through the open window. He was naked, of strong build, very neatly trimmed all over and fully aroused. Before him were One, subserviently positioned on the floor, and Slave, braced atop the flat of a wooden drum. He softly walked over to Slave, positioning himself at her rear, and pulled apart her bottom splaying her sex. With a slow gravitational pull, her burrow relinquished the black electrified phallus, leaving her gaping and seeping with juices. Stabbing three fingers inside her wet tapered hole, and laced with the sap of her ecstasy, he moved over to her face and slid his fingers into her mouth.

"I am Lord Fanshawe," said the muscular figure. "A fact you are aware of I'm sure."

Slave's eyes surreptitiously burned with an ache not dissimilar to a mixture of fear, excitement and lust. It was the first time she had been permitted to see her owner and quite unexpectedly so. His facial structure, that of an ancient greek sculpture, held a long broad nose, slightly flared at the nostrils, full lips the colour of wine and eyes as blue and as deep as the ocean itself. Her sex sent an awakening flutter to the butterflies in her belly and as abruptly as they arrived, they disappeared. Rebuking herself — she had already forgotten her place — she immediately dropped her eyes.

"I expect only two things," Lord Fanshawe announced, in a blanketed stern tone. "For you to gracefully capitulate to any demand given you and to follow house rules without fault. Do not trouble yourself with other details, as these you will learn through unrelenting castigation at the hands of your Master's and Mistress's." Removing the three fingers from her mouth and wiping them on her face, he continued. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," she answered.

"One," Lord Fanshawe spoke, his eyes still fixed on Slave. "I would like you to enlighten your protege as to what happens when a slave, even those equally as captivating, looks into the eyes of its Master. You are permitted to stand and face me. I will advise of what you are to do."

Instantly and without exertion One arose and faced his Lord, his naked and burly frame exquisitely moulded. With his shaft fully aroused and thudding, he eagerly, patiently awaited command. Lord Fanshawe solidly stood beside the open doorway, arms folded underneath his chest and his sex tumefied.

"Free it from the drum and spread its limbs wide," Lord Fanshawe ordered, pointing with his erected finger to the ceiling. "Secure its arms with chains attached to these beams. Do the same with its ankles using the floor rings there. Do not permit its feet to touch the floor. Understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," replied One.

Lord Fanshawe circled around Slave, closely inspecting her body with intentful eyes, and returned to his place by the door.

"One, kneel before me and show it how I like to be pleased," said Lord Fanshawe. One obeyed, instantly kneeling before his Lord, his face in line with the thick shaft of his Lord's eager cock as he fed it slowly into his mouth. With innocently gleeful eyes, Slave watched as One closed his mouth around her Lord's pleasure and suckled him tightly. She observed as One parted Lord Fanshawe's bottom and slid two fingers in his anus while his eyes fixed into that of his Lord. And she watched as her Lord became aroused to the point of passion. And not a moment before Lord Fanshawe was ready to erupt, he pushed One to the ground, took a hold of himself and pumped his hot juices over One's cock.

"Lubricate her anus and stretch her with that monstrous cock of yours," ordered Lord Fanshawe. "Reach your pleasure and you will be punished."

Filled with grace and humility, One pooled the sap into his palm and stood atop a platform behind Slave. Parting the cheeks of her bottom, he tilted his hand letting the juice run to the tips of his fingers and slid them into her rectum, smothering the puckered entrance.

"Do not be kind," directed Lord Fanshawe. One aimed his length, resting it over her tight little hole, and gripped Slave's hips.

"Wait." Lord Fanshawe took a leather flogger from the wall and stood facing Slave, her eyes wide, breath intensified. "Now."

Lord Fanshawe cracked the flogger hard across Slave's breasts as powerfully as One forced himself inside her bottom.

"Stay. I want to watch its face." Lord Fanshawe stepped closer. "Look at me." And with her chin in his tight grip, Lord Fanshawe raised her gaze to meet his.

Through a sea of tears, Slave looked deeply into her Master's eyes as One impaled her from behind. Her breath had been stolen, it seemed, for momentarily all to be heard was the gentle breeze flowing into room one through the open window. Lord Fanshawe did not retire his gaze, nor did he move, instead he looked into her with more intent as if with fantastic ease he was able to see the very essence of the pain living within her.

"To lose ones anal virginity," said Lord Fanshawe softly, still with an unwavering stare, "for some, can be hard enough. But for it to be taken by One and with such force, well it is nothing short of remarkable." And with this, he turned sharply and took his place beside the door where he remained. "One, do with her as I would you," he said with apathy.

Removing his sex, One stepped down from the platform and removed a thick plaited whip from the wall before standing behind Slave. Without a word muttered he brought the whip down across the delicate skin of her cheeks, time and again, with such powerful ease. It took Slave only four strikes until she was uncontrollable with tears. And with each new burning welt, her body jerked and contorted against the binding chains, forcing her to relinquish her grasp and suspending her by her limbs in mid air. After sixteen further cracks to her bottom, thighs and back, Slave's exasperated cries abated.

Moving to her front, One attached a weight to the connecting chain attached to the clamps biting into each of her nipples and carefully watched her expression, adding additional weight until her breath involuntarily retreated and her eyes grew vacant. As her lids began to close, he stepped back and cracked the whip across her thigh, catching her sobbing sex as its hot tears dripped to the chilled oak floor. Unrelentingly moving closer and with a deft swipe, One slapped her left breast forcing the weights to painfully tug at the supporting chain. Before the weights had a chance to settle he slapped her other breast, henceforth taking to each one without pause.

Slave, a beacon of unabated pain and yet without question, without even the slightest arousal of suspicion, had never been more open, more secure, more induced to pleasure than she was as she watched One, her first Master with such an encapsulating warmth — and to deny him would be to rob herself — use her for the will of his own. She gazed as an eager child would gaze, as he attached a small clamp to the swollen little nodule of tissue at the top of her sex. A wave of fire engulfed her entire being but she forced herself to watch as he attached a weight to the clamp, and then she could watch no more for her tears would not allow it.

Dazzling white stars erupting in front a sheet of blackness was all Slave was able to see behind her lid clad eyes as the pain continued, that evil and seductive pain, uncompassionate and tortuous. The sound of rattling chains crowded her ears until their harsh reality ascended to a tranquil flow of what sounded almost like water trickling down a bed of chimes. Startled with a loss of weight, Slave creaked her eyes to witness One lifting her up in his hands by her neck.

To him she was as light as air, and felt no travail as he raised his arms, stretching them out, while he held her in place. Not even bothering to look at her, he guided her sex atop his own throbbing shaft and with an almighty force brought her crashing down, impaling her deeply. He used her neck as leverage and interminably employed her body as a necrophile would a corpse, lifting and dropping her dead weight, simultaneously lifting the weight attached to her clitoris only to let it drop with each uplift of her body.

Slave was in a realm of ecstasy, her moans and grunts a stranger to even herself. Almost machine like, her punisher pushed her further and further into continual orgasm until her body bequeathed to the will and use of whomever may choose to use it. With her body limp and still, One finally detached himself and secured her ankles to the beam above her and lowered the chains on her wrists until she was kneeling and ensured not one morsel of her skin touched the floor.

One had always shown exemplary obedience towards Lord Fanshawe, from even the first day he was brought into the mansion. And although the Lord took no favourites, as such an affair would have stripped him of his irrefutable honour, One was a slave he so admirably admired. Usually, a man of such high stature as that of the Lord would not spit upon a comparison of himself to a lesser person. But in One he did indeed see himself which not only troubled him, for he knew his own strengths, but aroused him greatly, spurning him to punish this slave, this beast, with such tyranny that at times he would lose his grip on what was real and a oneness would consume his being.

Remarkably, and for the first time in a female, Lord Fanshawe also saw a strength in Slave he had never before witnessed, not even in his own Lady, whom he adored. The female slaves he had purchased previously, even during the initial encounter with One or one of his predecessors, would beg for mercy long before Lord Fanshawe arrived to deploy the First Punishment. And there she was, marred, used, and exhausted, nearing the end of her First Punishment without so much as a murmur of rebate.

"One," spoke Lord Fanshawe, pointing to the ground. "Retrieve that phallus." Immediately yielding to his command, One picked up the electrified impaler and held it. "Let's see if we can't wake it up."

Lord Fanshawe ordered One to stand at Slave's rear as he had done so before but without the platform. And after attaching a remote for Lord Fanshawe to hold, he was to thrust the powered intruder into Slave's sopping vagina, after which, he was to finish what he started inside her tight, puckered little tunnel. He was then told to wait until he was commanded to do otherwise.

Holding her head up with a fist of her hair, Lord Fanshawe gently prised apart her mouth and pushed in his cock, reaching the opening of her throat. He gave his last order; for One to ravish his slave like he had never ravished before. And as Lord Fanshawe pushed himself further inside, Slave only stirred, relinquishing a benevolent groan before retreating back into her slumber.

"Three," said Lord Fanshawe. "Two." And in the remaining one second before they would subject Slave to her impending fate, both Lord Fanshawe and One looked at one another with a deeper desire than even they knew existed. And in that one second, the look in Lord Fanshawe's eyes, One knew that he had found his Lord's one and only weakness.

"One."

With an almost barbaric thrust, One lifted Slave's beautifully welted bottom in the air, his gargantuan cock skewering her anus, his thrusts disallowing the phallus in her sex to exit, as he released every molecule of pent up energy in devouring her body. And although he was not permitted, never was he permitted unless pleasing his Lord with his mouth — as was one of the house rules — he did not take his sight away from Lord Fanshawe's. As the two men filled every hole in her body, even as Slave awoke from her abused sex being electrocuted, her anus stretched and her mouth widened and dripping with saliva, her eyes streaming with tears, the two men of sparsely different statures used her as a conduit to bask in their passions for each other.

"I permit you to reach your desire," said Lord Fanshawe breathlessly. "As you wish."

And with that, just as One brought himself to the brink of explosion, Lord Fanshawe's body tensed, his finger impulsively connected to the electrocution button. Both men emptied themselves inside Slave's bound and exploited body.

One, resuming his natural order, retreated to his knees with his bottom in the air, his arms splayed ahead of him on the ground and his head cast down. Lord Fanshawe left the room without saying a word, as he always did. And Slave, still chained, her body limp but awake, could do nothing but wait. Kneeling in her captivity, limbs not touching the floor, she dripped from all but one hole. One dripped from her bottom, her orgasms dripped from her sex, her nose with snot and a waterfall still gushed from her eyes. Her skin, almost a work of artistic welts upon a fresh canvas, goosebumped with the cold breeze.

Without warning, two stoutly built guards quietly entered the room. The guard who entered first, clothed in a leather chastity, stood directly behind Slave and held her head in place by her hair with one hand, and with the other he pinned her eyelids open as not to be closed naturally. The other guard, his body slightly thinner than that of the first and clad with the same chastity, stood before One. In his hand was a clear plastic pouch, large in size and empty.

"Raise your head," he directed. And without dispute One did as he was told. The guard deftly placed the pouch around One's head and tightened it around his face. Slave, both astonished and alarmed, was forced to watch as One desperately tried to breath, his face turning red, the veins in his neck bulging, his arms still faithfully fixed to the ground. As she witnessed the changing hues of his beautiful visage, she noticed also a peace within his eyes. Tears poured from her eyes as her heart pounded, desperately attempting to break free and save her Master. She fought and struggled against the guards grip but her endeavor proved futile.

The guard with One tied a rope around his neck, securing the pouch, and led him out of the room on his knees as One desperately fought not to collapse. As soon as they were no longer visible, the guard holding Slave released his grip of her eyelids, allowing her eyes to be free, and filled her ears with a wax, deafening her instantly.

In the corridor just outside of the room, the guard holding One hostage watched intently as he slowly began to buckle, and when he was satisfied his prisoner had only a few puffs of remaining breath, did he pierce the pouch and allow One to breathe.

As One frantically gasped for life, he was carried upstairs and thrown into the Waiting Chamber as the two guards walked away in silence.

There was no light where he laid, and the only sound to be heard was that of his own, praying blindly to Lord Fanshawe for mercy before he was to be passed for Final Judgement.