Condemned to Slavery (12 page)

Several times she gathered a memoryhat bore greater clarity than the others, the figments so strong that they may have actually been true. The image of a guard was always corrupted, the light sheathing it from the corridor making the overseer appear almost angelic, or when the shadows caught her face they reduced her to a sinister demonic beast. The amounts she was given seemed meager and sparse, maintaining her life, but doing nothing to replenish her strength or beat back the ghosts of starvation.

Chapter Seven

After what seemed like years of purgatory, she was enduring another episode of feeding, the sensation of a waterfall of icy nectar pouring down her gullet making her quiver in rapture. The amount increased, the waters stinging her desiccated lips, reviving her, bringing the person feeding her to increasing clarity until she detected that this was a true form and not a being pieced together by her fractured reason.

The need to beg for her release could not be fulfilled, the influx of water and her body’s desire to guzzle it preventing her from addressing her captor. The flow increased beyond her capacity to ingest and as excess began to trickle over her lips, running down her body, she tried to raise her hands and protect herself, the influx starting to clog her nose, staining her breath with flecks as she tried to avoid the deluge.

The act of mercy that was her feeding had become an ordeal, the drowning driving her into paroxysms. Pummeling the prison, spinning, trying to escape, the guard giggled as she continued to assail the trapped head with a dogged stream. Lydia spluttered and spat, seeking to open a clear path to a decent inhale. The flow ended and she was reduced to coughing fits while she recovered from the attack, the guard setting aside the pitcher and rising.

Straightening her jacket with a tug to the hem the woman looked down and presented her toe to the head on the floor, her footwear a set of jackboots with a stiletto heel.

“Lick my boots,” she demanded, pushing the gloss tip to Lydia’s cracked lips, but she was still crippled by her lengthy stay in the pit, the waters having refreshed only to have the smothering cascade steal all that had been imparted.

A leather palm slapped her cheek, drawing her attention while the command was repeated.

Her tongue lolled weakly from her mouth, the tip grazing the toe, her contorted pose unable to properly attend the task desired of her.

“Pathetic!” grumbled the guard, and lodged the toe under the trapped chin, lifting it up as she leaned in to put an elbow across her knee and scrutinize the prisoner.

“I think its time for a change of position. Would you like that?”

Lydia gave a flimsy nod, the pressure under her chin escalating, her thoughts assuming the guard meant to release her.

Dark sheathed digits began to unlock her prison, opening the jaws to a slight degree. Before she could fall, the guard snatched her throat and hauled her out, dropping her lifeless frame to the floor. Instantly she began to sag, her body having wasted from its denied use. The guard left her in this tangled heap and proceeded to the chest, wherein she began to prepare the new locale for Lydia’s restraint, the offer of freedom denied and a change in the nature of her solitary confinement promised.

Laying upon the floor, she looked at her wrists, the injuries now reduced to a mere discolored line of skin, the extent of her recovery testifying just how long she had been incarcerated in this segregated domain.

The polished boots of the guard stepped before her gaze, the gleaming fabric glittering like jet.

“Lick them,” came the terse demand, and a toe edged forward within her reach.

The straits of her seclusion had left her thoughts scrambled, her mind functioning slowly, and it was this delay in responding to the villain’s wishes that prompted a sudden flurry of truculent slashes into Lydia’s exposed back. The slender cane fell from a great height with the added ferocity of frenzied exertion behind it, making the illustrations of pain it carved into her flesh all the more deep and agonizing. The blows made her yelp and jolt, unable to forge her own evasion of the attack because of her feeble state. At least a dozen were deposited before a respite was granted, and so as to repeat the objective the guard pushed the toe of her boot to the grizzling wretch’s lips.

“Worship my boots you maggot, or I’ll beat you senseless before I tie you up.”

Defeated and desperate, she opened her dry lips a little and let her tongue fall from slack jaws, running the shaking organ across the smooth plains of the footwear, the humiliation tearing at her with notched blades.

“That’s it, keep going, you know you love it,” crooned the tyrant, turning her foot slightly to expose fresh zones to Lydia’s slobbering attentions. “Don’t rush it, and do a good job or I’ll make suffer, worm.”

Her devotions left the foot and began to circle the upper reaches of the tall boot, the wearer grinning broadly, totally enthralled by this act of degradation.

There was a hiss of air parting on a thin strip, and a bolt of fiery torment was laid into her flank, the blow making Lydia jerk and release a croak as she stopped in her task. Wondering what she had done wrong she screwed up her face and waited for the pulsating heat of the injury to subside to less vibrant peaks.

“Just to make sure you’re keeping your mind on your job,” purred the guard, and viciously applied another overhead lash, this one goading Lydia back into her allotted task with increased speed. “After all, I don’t want your thoughts wandering, I want them fixated on doing this right.”

Lydia used her aching limbs to rise into a crooked squat, fighting to keep herself elevated so she could finish the top of the boot before moving herself back into the infinitely less taxing position of a sprawled pile.

“All done?” asked the guard.

Lydia nodded sedately, her eyes held low in humbled fury.

“You are sure? If there is a single mark…” warned the woman, granting her opportunity to question her work and fear that she had missed something. “Very well, start on the other one then.”

The second boot was moved forth for her to attend, and shuffling forward Lydia repeated her toil in the same manner, slowly coating the saliva-slickened panes with a lapping vigor to remove any smudge or mark that might exist.

Without any real care or enthusiasm for her task she finished quickly and backed away, deeming herself debased enough.

“Finished already? My that was quick, your tongue just flew across that boot. You must really enjoy this work,” announced the woman and then stepped back, looking over her footwear in the light, examining Lydia’s efforts, and suddenly her rampant smirk of glee dropped into a frowning scowl that had Lydia quailing in fright.

“But that does not excuse the fact that there is a giant smudge on my right toe,” she growled, and stepped towards Lydia with menace in mind, her body rigid and tensed, making Lydia cower away.

“Do you see the smudge?” she spat, and pushed the tip of her sole onto Lydia’s face, forcing her head to the ground and then squashing it underfoot while she applied more of her body weight to the limb.

“See the smudge!” she repeated with asperity, slipping the boot away and jabbing it into Lydia’s features, the light kicks feeling akin to heavy-handed slaps. The chastisement made her fight to back away, only to have her abuser follow and continue the attack until she had been backed to a wall. The boot moved up and pinned her to the stone, the heel digging in and readying to pierce her breast while Lydia gurgled and scowled.

“I told you to take care! I warned you! I gave you a second chance, so instead you insult me with your botched efforts and lack of proper respect,” the woman said with rigor, closing her gloved hands about either end of the cane and flexing the supple rod in her grasp. Tightly clenching her jaw, she spoke again through bared teeth, the severity in her voice making Lydia burble her pleas and apologies.

“Well I’ll teach you respect, worm. I’ll teach you not to insult me with your lazy ways.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll do a proper job, just give me a chance, I couldn’t see, it was dark, I’m exhausted, I can’t think straight, pl—”

Lydia barely saw the stroke fall because it came so quickly, the woman hacking into her with such lightning speed that the assault was reduced to a blur of movement and the sudden white heat of her form being torn into by sanguinary blows. The cane whistled through the air, the dull thwack of it slamming to her flesh filling her ears, her screams saturating the air with its hellish din of suffering. She bucked and tried to cover herself as she remained anchored to the wall, but the guard simply assailed whatever bare flesh she could find, distributing the horrendous impacts across the entire arena of Lydia’s frame. Her arms pawed with frailty at the boot trapping her, her fingertips brushing the rigid leather and the smooth Lycra, the flesh beneath taut from its applied pressure.

The guard savored the feel of the inmate’s vain struggles, drawing delight from the vision of her dominance over the prisoner and stepping suddenly back she let Lydia try and find shelter. In the shuffling gait of a crippled invertebrate Lydia ambulated to try and escape the torrential downpour of vindictive bamboo, slithering until she was herded into a corner and trapped. Curling into a wailing, sobbing ball, she covered her face, pressed her cheek to the stone and shrieked constantly until the woman ceased the stinging amerce.

Panting from her satisfying exertions, the guard loomed over the weeping wreck and looked over the zebra-stripped flesh quivering beneath her, perusing the portrait of ghastly physical correction she had so hastily and zealously sketched.

“Now, what are we to do about this smudge?”

Lydia groaned inwardly with despair, the confirmation that this horrendous little play was to continue filling her with worry.

“Suck the toe,” came the abrupt command.

Rather than inspire further capricious abuse simply to get her to comply, Lydia removed herself from her corner and flopped outward and onto the floor, her bruised and battered flesh giving her flashes of discomfort as her flushed hide was moved.

Extending her tongue, she tried to find the evidence of her supposed crime and rectify her oversight, wondering if perhaps the entire thing had been conjured simply to make her a viable victim for the jailer’s brutal remedy.

The cane chanted its dull tune upon the air and bit into her thigh, freezing Lydia with the eruption of heat in the tenderized skin.

“Don’t lick them, I said to suck. It’s too late by far to simply redo your work, so don’t compound your error with disobedience!”

Another blow swung down and crossed the site of the previous, elevating the effects of the merciless swipe by vast degrees.

“Listen to what I say or I’ll really make you suffer. Now, what did I say?” growled the woman.

Riding out the greatest peaks of ferocity from the beating, Lydia swallowed and over quavering lips mumbled the initial command.

“To suck the toe of your boot, Mistress.”

“Speak up, wretch,” snapped the guard, and threw a skimming flick across Lydia’s rump, making the flesh jiggle and Lydia to repeat her words with strained volume.

“To suck on the toe of your boot, Mistress!”

“Good, so do what I say!” she said, and added another cut of the cane to banish all levity from her words.

Putting her mouth to the tip, Lydia swallowed as much of the toe as possible, and then rolled her tongue across the sheathed tip, her mouth dry from her scourging and unable to fully coat the entire thing as was presumably required. In the back of her mind arose a debauched presence. At first she thought herself still delirious, but as she suckled on the toe, her body whipped into submission to the imperious guard, she began to give into a wicked sense of lascivious relish.

The boot slipped from her maw and stepped back, leaving Lydia to close her eyes and weather the storm of residual pains coursing through her harried frame and mull over the flavor of the boot.

“Put your wrists up to your neck,” ordered the guard, causing Lydia to obey without even a conscious thought, her instant compliance now becoming second nature, her body responding to avoid wounding before her mind decreed otherwise in the interests of preserving something as obsolete as dignity.

Rope encircled her throat, looping around the neck and wrists, squeezing them into a single tight bundle where any attempt to struggle or draw her hands free only made the coils squeeze.

“Now roll onto your belly and open your legs.”

Again, her obedience was performed with perfunctory haste, her will to resist a shattered icon. The parting of her legs, of opening herself to attention for the will of the officer grabbed the reigns of her masochism and pulled on them, escalating her dissolute satisfaction in this act. She was going to be bound again, made to suffer, yet rather than resenting it she was finding a faint sense of eagerness to experience it afresh. In the moments of her release, the memory of her cruel containment in the tube had metamorphosed. When it was happening she loathed it with every particle of her being, but now she would have actually petitioned a return if she were not so looking forward to another variant.

“Wider!” barked the guard, and applied a lick of encouragement to make Lydia splay her limbs to a degree where the ligaments and muscles ached.

The toe of the offending boot brushed the cleft between her legs and was suddenly trying to force an entry. Snapping her legs back, her buttocks grabbed the invading toe, denying easy access. A truculent wrench tore free the boot, the fabric clinging to the skin and ripping away to make her air a pip of high-pitched pain.

“Again you disobey,” growled the officer, stamping her boot onto Lydia’s offending rear, the heel nearly punching through the soft skin.

“I said get those legs wide!” she spat, and started to flog the erroneous limbs with sharp searing blows.

Lydia squealed and threw them open, the tensed muscles receiving pitiless devotion from the pliant stave.

“Wider!” roared the woman, increasing the impetus of her strokes.

Striving to increase the gap, Lydia forced herself to strain onward, her ligaments tearing from their overexertion.