I THOUGHT I was blind when I woke up, but I quickly realized it was just that my eyes were covered. I was lying on a thin foam mat, covered in plastic and thin enough I could feel the concrete floor through it. I groped around in a panic, only to realize my wrists were cuffed together with a thick but light metal chain about a foot long.
Breathing hard, I took stock of my restraints. My ankles were chained together as well, although the chain was two or three feet long, and locked onto my feet were pumps with a four-inch heel. My head was partially covered in a leather hood - open from my nose to my chin, and there was an opening in the back through which my hair had been stuck in a ponytail, but my eyes were fully covered and it was locked on with a thin metal collar around my neck. The only thing I was wearing apart from that was a metal plate edged with rubber that had been fastened over my crotch. Thin chains wrapped around my waist and passed through my legs, holding it tight against my skin such that I couldn’t touch my genitals at all. The latter chain also passed through the tiny ring attached to a small plug that had been inserted into my asshole.
In short, I hadn’t dreamed the events of the previous night. Or the night before that, maybe. I had no idea how long it had been. I was covered in bruises. My entire body felt like a bruise. Not to mention the throbbing pain from my branded shoulder. It hadn’t literally blackened, I thought, but it would be a permanent mark. I desperately needed water, too. The chastity plate had a small hole I suspected would let me piss through it, which was good because I was desperate for that too.
“Hello?” I called, feeling around my surroundings. I didn’t stand up, unsure I could stay upright on the heels I was wearing. I found myself in a cage perhaps six by six feet, one wall concrete like the floor, the other three a grid of thick wires. The door was locked in its solid frame with a hefty padlock, and the hinges seemed strong as well. To the concrete wall was fixed a toilet, probably stainless steel.
As I explored I heard someone stirring, chains clinking. My heart leaped as I heard her voice. “Clover? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it is. God, Rea, I’m so sorry for getting you into this.”
“You remember breaking into the guy’s house was my idea, right?”
I hadn’t, actually. “Still, though. Are you okay? Or like...”
“I’m not hurt,” she told me, her voice soft. “I can’t see you, but from the sounds you were making just now I expect you’re in a cage same as me.”
I pissed in the little steel toilet and drank some water by sucking at a rubberized pipe protruding from the wall next to it, which Rea alerted me to. I related what had happened when we were captured, after she’d been incapacitated by Mona. She told me about her interrogation. It sounded like she’d been forced to help the Dormers erase any sign we’d come here. It didn’t bode well.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked at one point.
“About what, answering her questions?”
“When you were getting the hell shocked out of you by - by whatever? Rea, come on.”
“If I had held out, maybe I could have given someone time to find us.”
“How long would that have taken? It’s not like we told anyone where we were going. Which was stupid even if we were gonna do crimes, but that’s beside the point. I mean, if Jack had asked me anything I would have, you know, sung like a canary.”
“Right.” I thought she was curious about what he’d done to me, but she didn’t ask. I was trying not to think about it, how abjectly terrified I’d been, how I would have done anything to make it stop. How maybe worse was yet to come.
I was laying on the plastic mat when a door opened elsewhere in the room. I sat up, listening. Someone, I guessed Mona, stepped into the room and flicked a light switch. I could see just the slightest hint of illumination at the lower edge of my mask.
“Hey!” Chantrea called. “Where the fuck are we? Let us out of here!” She kept trying to get a reaction, but the intruder silently visited each of our cages and slid something through a gap in the wires at the bottom of the door. They left, turning off the lights and shutting the door.
They’d left a large, plastic bowl filled with something that smelled, to my starving nose, like mana from heaven. It turned out to be a slurry of what seemed like various vegetables, stewed to the point of mush, mixed with peanut butter and probably a couple other ingredients I couldn’t identify. It was bland, unseasoned, and I wolfed down the entire bowl in no time at all. I crawled over to the wall to take a drink afterward.
After that, time lost all meaning. Rea and I sat on our mats in the dark, not talking much. After a while, we discussed how we might escape. Although Jack was strong, it was Mona who was the real threat. I wondered aloud if she had a job or not. I stood up and practiced walking on my high heels, just in case a situation arose where I had to walk faster than a crawl.
After countless hours in the dark and another meal identical to the first, I was bored enough to relate to Rea what Jack had done to me in their dungeon room. After a horrified silence, and after she had expressed sympathy, our conversation turned to the strange technology involved.
The tentacles that Jack had hung me by, and the fleshy tubes that had draped around Rea and swallowed her limbs, were like nothing either of us had ever heard of. We didn’t have the impression the things were alive, especially given the degree to which they were controlled by computers. Even so, we wondered if they might be some kind of cyborg-things. In the end, we had no idea and couldn’t really draw any conjectures except that we had gotten into something way, way over our heads.
THEY CAME TO get us from the cages after a total of five meals. I had been sleeping when Jack and Mona both entered the room and opened my cage, dragging me to my feet. “Walk,” Jack commanded, as the pair led me blind out of the room. I had gotten a little better at balancing on the shoes, but I had also had a butt plug in for at least forty-eight hours and was constipated as hell. When we went down a staircase, I moaned, then regretted it immediately. Neither of them seemed to care, though. I was taken down a couple more steps, stumbling only to be caught by Mona. They walked me a few more steps, onto a metal grating through which the heels of my pumps kept falling through until one of them guided my feet to certain spots. They connected my ankle cuffs to the grate with short chains, keeping my legs as far apart as the shackles allowed. Then they grabbed the short chain between my wrists and hooked it to a point above me, leaving me standing with my arms over my head. The soles of my shoes scarcely touched the grating, and I only barely avoided my heels slipping through the grate again. Then my two captors left me hanging there alone.
Minutes later, the Dormers returned with Chantrea and hung her up too. Jack used a hex key to unlock my hood and pulled it off. I realized I was in the shower alcove adjacent to the main dungeon area, the floor and walls covered in tiles and with various hoses and shower heads protruding from the walls and ceiling.
Jack moved on, taking off my chastity belt and pumps as Mona did the same to Chantrea. It took me a moment to find my footing, standing on the balls of my feet, the cuffs digging into my wrists despite their rounded edges. I was left completely naked, except for the chains and the tiny protruding ring of my butt plug.
“You’ve got it from here, right, dear?” Jack asked. Mona nodded, dismissing him to plod upstairs. She was wearing her usual short-legged leotard.
Mona turned to the two of us. “Well, we’ve got a long trip ahead of us, and we have to take care of some hygiene as well. I’m not tolerant of much bullshit before dinner, so I hope you don’t need me to convince you that you’ll regret it if you resist me.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, fearful.
“I’m going to clean you two up,” she responded, moving toward me.
“Yeah, but what does that, uh, entail?” I mumbled.
She didn’t respond, but grabbed a nozzle on a thin hose from behind me. She pulled out my butt plug, dropping it to the ground, and pushed the nozzle into its place. She adjusted it so that it took more space in my ass, preventing it from falling out, then turned it on. The enema began filling my guts with lukewarm water. Then she did the same to Chantrea.
Within a few dozen seconds I was groaning with the pressure building up inside of me. Chantrea was making similar sounds. After a minute I was sure I would burst, but Mona let the water trickle in for another minute before she removed the nozzle, stepping back. Heedless of the other two women in the room, I gasped with relief as I released my bowels. The soupy mess streamed down my legs, trickling into the drain below me. I turned away to avoid watching Rea do the same, realizing humiliated tears were running down my face.
Mona hosed both of us off from the waist down in a spray of cold water, then dried me off with a rough towel and put my hair in a ponytail before retrieving a large plastic bottle. She began to squirt it onto my skin, spreading it into a thick, even layer. Every square inch of my skin was covered, even inching into my ass crack. I tried not to flinch from her touch as she slathered it onto my most sensitive areas. She moved gradually from my feet up to my torso and arms. She finished off with a different cream on my face, leaving me completely covered from the eyebrows down.
By the time she reached my neck, the skin on my legs was beginning to feel hot. A minute later, when she’d finished with my face, I was writhing with pain.
“Careful, girl. If you rub any of that off I’m just going to take the hair out with tweezers, and I won’t be happy about it either,” Mona warned. I moaned in agony but avoided turning my head to the side, where my arms might brush against it.
“Please take it off,” I begged. She just stood there and watched me squirm. “M -” I had almost called her Mona, but I doubted she would accept that. “Mrs. Dormer, please, take it off me!”
She frowned. “You keep speaking when you haven’t been spoken to. You’ll learn better soon, but for now, address me as ‘Mistress’ or not at all.”
I didn’t press the issue, nervous of how venomous she sounded, but continued to writhe in torment as silently as I could. It was only another minute before Mona retrieved the hose and began to spray down my legs. She moved slowly upward, aiming for the same pace at which she’d applied the cream. My skin was left feeling cool and slippery, the burning sensation gone.
“You have nice skin, don’t you,” Mona said idly as she reached my waist. “Small pores, that’s the ticket.” As she sprayed off my pubic mound, she rubbed at it with her hand. I pulled away as best I could, but that was when I realized that coming off along with the cream was all my body hair! I hadn’t been looking, wanting to avoid rubbing my chin against my chest. Now I wanted to scream - not because I was attached to my body hair per se, but because of the absolute control this insane woman had over my body! Tears of rage sprung to my eyes, but I stayed still, not wanting to invite retaliation. Soon enough, she had finished rinsing me off. I was left wet, smooth, and trying not to cry any harder than I already was.
Mona sighed as she applied the same treatment to Chantrea. “What a pain. And as usual, Jack is sitting on his ass. No help at all. I’m certainly going to be glad to have you girls around the house.”
My anger only waxed at the notion that it was Mona who was in pain here, as Rea was beginning to tense in anguish at the heat on her skin. It did, however, inject me with a thrill of hope. Surely “having us around the house” would present us with some opportunity to escape, or to call for help somehow.
Mona was looking annoyed at the little moans of pain Chantrea didn’t seem able to stop. “Mistress,” I tried to distract her, “what is it you’re preparing us for?”
She sighed again. “Do you think I owe you an explanation, slave?”
“No, but - I was wondering.”
“And you can keep wondering, until you find out. What difference do you think it makes to me?”
After she hosed down Chantrea, she applied two more creams to every inch of my skin. These didn’t burn, but seemed to make my skin smooth and give it a healthy glow. She thoroughly combed my hair out, then turned on the showerhead above me and washed it with four different products. After she did the same to Chantrea, she stepped back and regarded us.
“It’ll have to be good enough,” she declared. “I’ll be back after we eat, and then we’ll get you all ready to leave.” With that, she left the shower alcove and hiked up the stairs out of the dungeon.
I looked over at Chantrea with a critical eye. I had to admit that Mona had succeeded in prettying her up. Rea had a tall, strong frame, but her femininity was apparent in her wide hips and her pretty breasts. Her black hair was cut short, buzzed at the back, and stiff enough after being conditioned to puff a couple inches high. I wondered if the Dormers would force her to grow it out - it was pretty dykey. She had a pretty face, I’d always thought, but seeing her naked gave me a new appreciation of how truly beautiful she was.
She was sizing me up the same way, I noticed, and gave her a weak smile as I considered what she might see. I was almost as tall as she was, but not half as muscular. Our breasts were about the same size, but my hips and belly were quite slender. My own black hair was quite long, reaching midway down my back, and had just a bit of a curl to it. Mona had been right, I did have nice skin - smooth, soft, and just a little too dark for me to pass as white. My face was delicate enough, however, that I could usually pass for a cis girl. My dick was an average size, and circumcised.
It was probably at least an hour before Mona came back down. By that time, Chantrea and I were both exhausted from standing in the same position for so long. The cuffs dug into my wrists and the grating dug into the soles of my feet.
The lady of the house got right back to business. She put a white hood over Rea’s head. This one covered her chin, though it still left her hair free and had a circular opening over the mouth and a smaller one at the nostrils. Then Mona opened a sterile wrapping and, from it, inserted a short catheter into Rea’s urethra. A dribble of urine spilled into the drain. At her pained moaning, Mona finally spoke. “Don’t try to hold it. Just relax and let it out, and the pressure will stop.” Then there was a pair of panties, made of something like white latex. Rea winced as Mona pulled them into place. They clung tightly to Rea’s hips, molding themselves to every fold of skin. The end of the catheter threaded through a small hole in the front.
I got the same treatment, blushing under the latex of the hood when a few drops leaked out of my catheter. I loosened my bladder muscles, and it felt like I was continually trying to pee. Then I jumped as the panties went on and the built-in butt plug I hadn’t noticed slid past my anus. They covered my whole butt, up to the thinnest part of my waist, and were incredibly tight. There was no way I could shift them without actively using my hands to pull them off.
Through the hood, I heard Mona dragging something heavy. I shifted, uncomfortable and unsure what was happening as I didn’t hear much for several minutes. Eventually Mona finished up with Chantrea and it was my turn. The chains at my wrists and ankles were detached from the ceiling and the drain grate. I dragged my feet, sightless, as Mona led me several steps. Then she sat me down on a wooden rim and tipped me over into the box. I flailed for a moment, unsure what was happening, but found myself face to face against Chantrea. We were both laid out sideways, cushioned on all sides by soft foam padding.
It was only a moment before Mona slid a cock-shaped gag into my mouth and a breathing tube up my nose. They were both connected to a rectangular panel, which fastened onto my head with straps at my neck, as well as over and behind my scalp. She connected my catheter to a valve, too. When she’d done the same to Chantrea, a final piece of foam closed over us both.
We were left in silence, mashed together in a foam-lined coffin. My arms were stretched toward one end of the box, and although the chain between my wrists wasn’t fastened to anything else, I just didn’t have the space to move them down to my body. I was in close contact with Chantrea, of course - our bodies were pressed closely together by the foam around us - so I didn’t want to writhe around and risk hurting her. I doubted I would ever be able to get the leverage to break out, anyway.
I, of course, had lost all sense of time. I was completely isolated from the entire world, excepting only Chantrea’s body and my own. I felt her chest rise and fall with her breathing, her hips squirming back and forth as she looked for a comfortable position. I felt a sudden urge to kiss her, but of course the hood and the breathing apparatus strapped to my face precluded that. We had never dated or anything, but we were close friends and it wouldn’t have been our first kiss. I could feel my nipples stiffen, and my dick, a little bit, although with the tight panties and the catheter I doubted I would be able to get actually hard. For a moment I hoped Chantrea didn’t notice, until I realized that her own nipples were poking against the tops of my breasts whenever they brushed together.
After what couldn’t have been too long, our box was tipped over and we were close to a standing position. I could feel it being pushed or pulled along on wheels attached to one corner, like a really big suitcase. Then it was laid flat again, for a long time. I was trying to be attentive, at first, to get some clue of where we were going. But there was so little to interpret that I soon gave up and drifted into something like sleep. Chantrea and I couldn’t embrace, of course, but we found a comfortable position leaning into each other.
AT A GUESS, we spent more than twelve hours in that casket. When we were finally pulled out, leaving behind the gag setup that had been locked on my head, I was hungry, but not starving. I guess the breathing tube had been getting me moisture somehow, because I wasn’t dehydrated. I sprawled onto a wooden deck, gasping for breath through my hood’s openings and practically in tears over the feel of the sun and open air on my skin.
Jack Dormer unfastened my hood and yanked it off. I swore as the bright light burned my eyes. Blinking, I took in my surroundings.
I was sitting on the deck of a plushly-appointed yacht, next to the long casket that had brought me here. Mona and Jack were here, and Chantrea was just sitting up next to me. The boat was big enough for a few people to live in style. I would later find out it had a fully sized kitchen and bunk space for eight. It was just now departing from a pier at which several other boats, similarly rich, were moored. The pier was at what might have been a small military base, with a landing strip, a large hangar, and a cluster of gray buildings. At its perimeter was a high fence, and beyond the outer layer of fence, a riot of greenery. A short mountain rose up behind, clearly volcanic, and mostly covered in vibrant jungle. In every other direction there was nothing but blue sea and blue sky. The air was warm and humid and I knew we were on some remote tropical island. I could see a few people moving around the airstrip, but given that the Dormers didn’t seem to care about hiding me and Chantrea I had to assume they were paid to look the other way.
“Welcome to the Resort, sluts,” Jack bellowed. “You’re in for a hell of a vacation!”
Mona sighed. “The Resort is on the other side of the island, actually. But we do have to get you girls ready for the big day. Let’s get them downstairs, Jack.”
I took one last look around as we went inside. It seemed like it was early morning, and the yacht was heading toward a gate in the chain-link fence that surrounded the little marina. I sighed, wanting to taste the sun on my skin, but this was no time to provoke my captors. Chantrea and I followed them downstairs, still in chains, without resistance.
The yacht’s master bathroom was spacious and well-equipped. We were strung up once again, our wrists suspended from the high ceiling. Jack sat back and watched Mona strip off our latex panties and pry out the catheters. I sighed with relief when she slid out my butt plug. She let each of us drink as much water as we wanted. Then it was another enema for each of us, and a thorough shower. Mona rubbed creams into every inch of our skin, and combed out our hair.
After that, Mona and Jack left the room for several minutes. When they returned they were in formal wear - Jack in a restrained black suit, and Mona in a little black dress. They released Chantrea from her chains, Mona threatening her with the shock baton. Rea didn’t resist as they dressed her in a bare minimum of white clothing: thong panties whose lace paneling was half-transparent; an underwire bra with a similar pattern which wasn’t even cut high enough to cover her nipples; super-sheer stockings held up by a garter belt with three spaghetti-thin straps per leg; and shiny white pumps with a three-inch heel, not locked on this time. They did the same to me next, the lace scratchy against my skin.
All this primping and preening must have taken more than enough time for the boat to get to its destination. When we were led back up to the yacht’s deck, it was docked in a tiny cove, the sun hidden behind the high slope and dense trees. The only structure here was a short pier extending directly outward from an oversize door made of a coppery metal, set into the stony cliffs. As Jack and Mona led the way up the pier, I saw the intricate sculpture of the doors. The faceless souls writhing in torment reminded me of a Rodin sculpture.
The door was pushed open from the other side as we approached. Inside was a dark foyer where a few women were waiting for us. Two of them were dressed in elaborate maid uniforms - functional gray and white linen, not like the PVC ones I’d seen sold at sex shops, but cut to show plenty of skin. These two welcomed the Dormers and offered to take Jack’s coat, although he refused. It was much cooler in here than outside.
A short, blonde woman was the next to approach. She wore a simple sleeveless leotard of a material like pleather, blocked diagonally, half tan and half red. Her shoes were tan flats, and there was a strangely-designed collar around her neck identical to the ones worn by the maids. “Greetings, Sir and Madam Day,” she said. “I can take your new slaves to the green room now, if you’ve made them ready.”
“You do that,” Mona said. She and Jack left through the largest door. The woman in the leotard led us through a side door and through a long corridor with a couple small flights of stairs upward. Eventually the woman led us through a door into a narrow room with a floor of white linoleum. One wall was bare brick, the others smooth and green. Chantrea and I were sat on a bench along one of the long walls; there was a door at either end. There was another woman here, standing by the door we’d come in, dressed in an identical red-and-tan leotard and idly toying with a shock baton very like the one Mona had.
“Well, aren’t you comely,” said the blonde brightly. “The ceremony is beginning in about twenty minutes, but it’ll be another ten until they’re ready for you, so we’ll be waiting here for a bit.”
“What ceremony?” Chantrea demanded, exasperated. “What the hell is going on? Who are you and where are we?”
“We didn’t agree to be in any ceremony,” I pointed out, not particularly hopeful that would be relevant.
The blonde nodded sympathetically. “Well, let me see. The ceremony is to induct you into the church as the new slaves of Sir and Madame Day -”
“The Dormers,” I clarified.
“The - no, you shouldn’t use their real names here, if you do know them somehow. It’ll go very poorly for you.”
“It’s going really poorly already!” Rea cried. “Why are you doing this to us?”
“Look,” said the blonde, “Day are doing this because they want a pair of slaves, I don’t know why that is exactly but they probably just happen to be, you know - bastards.” This last word was whispered. “I personally am doing this because I’m also a slave and I don’t want to get punished. That’s the way it goes.”
“But look,” I said, “if you’re here against your will, and so are we, what’s to stop us from walking out of here right now and stealing the yacht or something?”
She smiled sardonically. “It’s not a terribly easy thing to explain. You’ll find out, but for now just take it from me that it’s not an option. All else aside, Slave RB over there isn’t the only guard.” The stocky woman standing by the door gave a curt nod.
I gave a frustrated sigh as Rea asked, “So what is this church we’re being initiated in then?”
“Well, it’s largely to do with the slave thing. Most of the couples have one or two personal slaves, and then there’s a good few of us who belong to the Resort. That’s the facility we’re in now. They worship - well, maybe I shouldn’t say.” Her voice dropped. “Honestly, it’s not very professional of me to be talking to you at all, but you won’t tell, will you?” We shook our heads and she smiled. “RB doesn’t talk much so I think we’ll be okay. I’m Slave TA, by the way.”
“Do we all have initials like that?”
“It’s really more of a code, in that the letters don’t stand for anything.”
Chantrea and I wanted to know more, but TA clammed up, seeming now a little nervous of RB. We sat mostly in miserable silence for the remainder of the time.
“Okay,” TA said eventually, looking at the clock mounted by one of the doors. “Only about five minutes left. Let’s get you ready to go in.”
Hesitantly, Chantrea and I stood. “You two look just perfect,” TA declared. “Real beauties. Okay, let’s move up to the door.” She went over to the door opposite the one we’d come through and opened it, revealing a dimly-lit ramp upward. She waved us through, following us to a double door at the top of the ramp. I could hear a call-and-response coming through it, some kind of chant. I adjusted my stance, nervous.
“Okay, your role is very simple. When the doors open, you two walk through. Try to keep your head up and your shoulders back. Keep your pace steady as you proceed to the central aisle, and from there onto the dais. Kneel where you’re told to kneel. Then you must answer ‘yes, I will’ or ‘yes, I do’ to every question asked of you. It’s really very simple, so don’t mess it up, because they come up with some really horrible punishments for slaves that disrupt their ceremonies.” With that explanation my mood went from “very nervous” to “quite terrified.”
We weren’t waiting there long before the muted chanting reached a crescendo. In the silence that followed, the doors in front of us were pushed open. Chantrea passed through, and I, in utter defeat and terror, scarcely believing I was doing this, followed half a step behind.
THE STRANGERS THAT were the reason for the Resort’s existence leaned in toward the LED screen in front of them. The image of the chapel at the heart of the compound was one that always interested them. Its tangled hangings and drifting lights reminded them of home. Perhaps they would present themselves there personally some Sunday soon. It had been a while. For now, though, they were content to gaze raptly at the initiation ceremony of a pair of new slaves.
TATTERS OF DARK cloth waved in the currents of air that circulated around the cavernous chapel, nearly obscuring the deep, glistening red of the ceiling. The shadows shifted slowly as motes of bright light drifted through the hangings. The walls were painted a micaceous black that shimmered in this swimming illumination, and the floor was covered in tiny black and brown tiles with plush carpets laid down the aisles. The chamber was oblong, a wide oval, and at the middle of one wide end was a dais a couple feet high. Most of the rest of the space was filled with short benches, reminiscent of pews but with plenty of cushioning, plenty of aisle space between them. There was an oppressive silence, and the air was a few degrees cooler than it had been in the green room.
It was a darkly fascinating environment, but it wasn’t the first thing that drew my attention. That was the chapel’s occupants. The pews were filled with men and women dressed in black semi-formal wear. Fine, but each of them also wore a mask that covered their face, excepting their mouth. They came in many bright colors and each couple - a man and a woman, two couples to a bench - had their own sign emblazoned across the forehead in black. There were between twenty and thirty of these couples in total.
But even these ominous figures only got a moment of my attention before my gaze fell on the others. The women sitting or kneeling by the pews, dressed in various outfits of white, most with some kind of restraints. The sight could not possibly have filled me with more dread than I was already feeling, but I recognized that I would be in this position myself, soon enough, kneeling by the feet of Jack and Mona Dormer.
The pair of slaves who’d opened the doors stepped out of the way as Chantrea and I marched stiffly into the chamber. Dozens of eyes fell on me, drinking in every detail, every inch of my skin. I felt a flush rise through my whole body, knowing what they were seeing: a slave, a slut, nothing but a piece of meat; my delicate face, frightened eyes flickering from one ominous sight to another; my hair, bound in a ponytail high on my head, tickling my upper back; my nipples, as flushed as my cheeks but stiff from the chill, bouncing slightly with each step and thrust front and center by the revealing bra; my fists clenched at my sides in my effort not to turn and flee then and there; my dick, barely hidden by the flimsy thong, its slight stiffness making me want to die on the spot in and of itself.
As I proceeded to the center aisle, I felt the W-shaped garter straps flexing against my ass, bare and on display for everyone I passed. They watched my hesitant gait, intent on not losing my balance, wishing I were anywhere in the world but here, and I knew they were drinking it in.
Chantrea and I turned to the chamber’s focal point, and there were Jack and Mona, waiting for us on the dais. They were wearing the same semi-formal wear as we’d seen at the house, but with the addition of their own unique mask. These were sky-blue, rounded at the edges, a stylized black etching on the forehead of a sun radiating down on a horizontal line. Behind them was a group of three, one imposing man in shining gold-and-black robes and two women in skin-tight suits of black-and-silver latex. Their masks were circular, covering their full face, with a symbol across the whole diameter.
The two of us proceeded up the aisle, our heels clicking against the tiles of the floor. We mounted the two steps and, at the prompting of one of the silver-masked women, knelt at the center of the dais facing the audience. The room’s silence, combined with the masks and with the carefully blank expressions on the faces of the slaves in white, was eerie. It was worse, in a way, than if the men and women had been leering and hooting at us in straightforward horniness.
“Slave LN,” said the man draped in gold cloth as he touched Chantrea’s shoulder. Then mine. His voice was honeyed. “Slave QC. A great honor has been bestowed upon you by our esteemed Sir and Madame Day. They have chosen you to join our family in worship. To become part of the elect. To set aside your worldly affairs and serve those over you directly. To receive the revelations of superior beings. To live fully, in other words, rather than merely scrounging for survival.
“Will you,” he asked gently, from behind us, “set aside all your worldly concerns and possessions?”
I knew the answer I was supposed to give, and I let it spill from my lips, no louder than a whisper. “Yes, I will.”
“Speak up,” hissed Mona, at the very edge of hearing but quite vicious nonetheless.
I forced the words out, in a desperate cry. “Yes, I will!” overlapping with Rea’s pronunciation of the same.
The man in the golden mask continued. “Will you remain forever loyal, heart and soul, to the masters of the Resort?”
“Yes, I will,” I croaked. Rea answered a moment later. Mona tapped her foot, once.
“Will you live by the rules and restrictions set by your betters, without question?”
I knew I had to satisfy Mona. “Yes, I will!” Rea said so too.
“Do you accept your new station as property, to be owned and done with as your owners please?”
“Yes, I do!”
“Do you accept as your sponsors, your masters, your betters and your possessors Sir and Madame Day?”
Rea answered quickly, but it took me a few moments to cry, “Yes, I do!”
“Welcome, then, and congratulations,” said the golden man sweetly. “You may now receive the blessings of your station.” I saw, to my side, Jack step toward me, and Mona step toward Rea. He reached behind me -
My senses whited out. The next thing I knew, I was writhing in pain, lying on my side helplessly. I could hear a shrill whine and realized I was making it. It felt like every nerve in my body was seizing up, forcing me to arch my back and flex my limbs in an attempt to relieve the strange sensation of pressure. Gradually, normalcy returned, and my awareness of the world around me returned.
Through the tears streaming from my eyes, I saw that at the same moment I’d fallen over, the spectators had dropped their quiet, passive facade - as well as most of their clothing. Now the wide, plush-carpeted aisles had become the site of an orgy. Cries rose from the slaves in the room, who were now being tortured and tormented, seemingly as an aphrodisiac for the still-masked men and women going at it like rabbits even as they carried out those torments.
I could move my neck now, and realized Jack and Mona were nude now too. They were still standing, making out with each other, but more restrained than the others in the room. Chantrea was still next to me, lying on her side and panting, out of breath. She had a reddish-brown collar on her, bloody where it sat at the back of her neck. I realized I had one too - I could feel it, and the blood, hot on my back. Why was there blood?
Before I could figure it out, the Dormers noticed me looking at them. “Looks like she’s conscious,” Jack commented.
“They both are,” said Mona, and with that the two of them dragged me and Rea off the dais, careful of the steps. They laid us out in the central aisle, and Jack mounted me. I tried to squirm away from him, but I found myself weakened, my muscles not as responsive. As he pulled my thong aside and slid into me, other bodies closed in around us. Hands poked and prodded me, slapped at me, pinched me, pulled my hair. I screamed, weakly, and moments later a dick was forced into my mouth. I almost bit down, but I was sure whatever they did to me for that would be far worse - and in any case, I wasn’t sure I had the power in my jaw to even do any damage.
Jack and the weedy, blonde man fucking my throat pumped in and out, keeping rhythm with each other even as others thronged around us. I gasped for air around the meaty cock probing down my throat, moaning and crying. Jack’s cock was too small to reach my prostate, but the pressure there was still somehow turning me on despite the dozen hands roaming my body, finding my every sensitive spot in an effort to cause me maximal torment. I bucked and shook whenever someone pinched the backs of my thighs or under my ribs, feeling out of control of my own movements. Someone grabbed my own dick and began to stroke it. To my humiliation and shame, I found myself getting hard, getting turned on by what they were doing to me, pumping my hips up and down in time with the two men with their cocks in me.
It was only when I was panting hard in pain, panic, and arousal that Jack came hot and hard in my ass, followed closely by the man using my mouth. They pulled out and squirted the remainder of their cum onto my face and belly.
Someone pulled me up onto my knees, then hoisted me into a standing position and buckled leather straps around my wrists to hold me like that. Jack came into my field of view holding a whip, and I tried to tell him to stop, but my impotent struggles and cries did nothing to dissuade him. Then I flinched as someone behind me cracked their own whip and left a stinging trail across my buttocks. Jack smiled and began laying into my tits. I screamed; they ignored me and kept going. I could feel blood trickling down my legs.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Chantrea getting the same treatment. Soon both our screams were echoing off the walls. Eventually, the pain was simply too much to bear, and I passed into unconsciousness.