21st Century Subterranean Slavery : Part I

(Part 1 from 2)

She came to shivering with a hung-over feeling, opening and closing her eyes without seeing anything. What happened to her? Was she date raped; was she blind?

Her mind was in a daze, vaguely recalling a nightclub in Las Vegas and a drink with a hot guy. She shook her head and recalled agreeing to visit another nightspot with a dance floor, then getting into a taxi. She searched her memory desperately for more but drew a blank.

She was stark naked lying on a hard wooden surface wearing handcuffs. They were flat iron lined with something soft and connected with a short chain. There were braces on her ankles and neck as well. She stared hard seeing nothing and then groped around her; there were no blankets and her bed if you could call it that was barely wide or long enough for her body. She turned on her side and curled up in the fetal position trying to get warm.

Still shivering she sat up feeling around. Her bed was no more than six inches above a damp concrete floor. She rose very carefully and touched her head on a rough concrete ceiling. Where was she, in a bunker? The ceiling was maybe five feet to her six foot-two. She crouched and moved unsteadily on the dirty floor only to find a natural rock face wall and then worked her way around the space. No more that six by eight feet. No door or other opening; was she entombed alive? She shuddered, was this it; had someone drugged and raped her and then left her to die, but then why the braces? Why was she being kept like a rat in a cage? She sat on the bed shivering, lifting her feet off the cold floor hugging her knees.

She had no sense of time in the dark; it could be hours, days or weeks. Hunger never entered her mind; she knew seven days was curtains without water. She wasn’t thirsty so maybe it was only hours; she tried to relax maybe someone would release her soon. She suddenly noticed a sore spot on the front of one thigh but in the total darkness there were no way to tell what it was. Had she struggled and got hurt somehow?

A million thoughts raced through her mind as the hours dragged by but nothing made sense. Was she being held for ransom? Her adopted parents had been killed in a traffic accident two years before. Their estate had been sued since her father was blamed for the incident; they took the house and everything, leaving her with nothing. No one she knew would or could pay for her release. She was between jobs and apartments, nobody would miss her, save a couple of girl friends; one she’d been staying with but the way she had been city hopping, they would assume she’d just left. Most of her few possessions were in a lockup at a bus station, the key in her purse.

After an eternity with only occasional sleep, she heard something rumbling and sliding in the ceiling then suddenly bright lights blinded her.

“Lie on your back female, arms above your head. Spread your legs wide…wider and don’t move!” She obeyed nearly doing the splits holding her feet off the floor, what choice did she have? It was a female voice.

“Please what do you want, why am I here, what have I done?”

“Silence female or you’ll remain in this pit forever!”

“That’s a big one,” another woman’s voice added in an unfamiliar accent.

“Oh, she is nice” a third woman, added in the same accent.

“Lower the pails,” it sounded like the first woman. She heard the sound of metal touching the floor as something soft hit her stomach with a thump and rolled off on the floor, then a rattle as the hooks or whatever disconnected from the pails. The ceiling closed to the hum of an electric motor with the sound of concrete scraping against concrete and then a clunk.

After a few minute she noticed a glow. She crouched moving over and found a small lit candle, some matches, a bottle and a small jar with a screwed lid in one pail, the other pail was empty reeking of urine, obviously her toilet but no toilet paper. She used the candle to look around, finding a small rounded loaf of bread in the wet dirt. She wiped it and broke off a piece from the inside, chewing on it and then drank some water out of an uncapped bottle.

She remembered her sore thigh and checked it with the candle. They had branded her at mid thigh with one inch numbers. She stared in disbelief at: One-eight-six. She felt it deciding it was a tattoo not a brand. The numbers were set in a rectangular frame shaped like a carved wooden sign broken at both ends about five inches wide; the entire tattoo designed to resemble a rough cattle brand. She opened the small jar and touched the cream, deciding it was for her tattoo, it did soothe the pain after a while.

When the ceiling opened again, probably a day later she was ordered stand with her back to the wall and raise her arms. A hook was attached to her wrist chain and she was hoisted up to the sound of a rattling chain. At one point a blindfold was placed over her eyes. When the chain stopped she screamed as an implement lashed across her ass cheeks. She screamed four more times, hearing the echo of the lash and her own screams, in whatever space she was in. She was then lowered back down and waited, crying with pain and confusion as the pails were replaced. The ceiling closed again, with that sickening crunch of concrete sliding on concrete. She assumed the ceiling opened once a day but she had no idea.

The next day she was hoisted up again and lashed to tears, without a single word from her jailers. On the third day she was ordered not to scream and told the lashes would not stop until she shut up. She managed to suppress her screaming after nine lashes and they stopped. She begged them to tell her what they wanted and she got another lash.

Every day after that was the same if she didn’t scream she got five; if she did the lashes didn’t stop until she stopped screaming or talking. Why did they beat her when she hadn’t refused to cooperate with whatever they wanted?

On the ninth day by her reckoning she was hoisted up, blind folded and two people pulled her over as the hook was disconnected and then steadied her as she staggered along barely able to walk. She heard the concrete cover close on her tomb and a few steps later what sounded like a metal door sliding and them slamming hard.

Then the sound of a noisy freight elevator shaking and moving until it made a jerky stop. She was then led for a walk turning several times until a door closed behind her.

Prompted to knees a chain was connected to her neck collar while the chain between her wrists was removed. She was then prompted with the neck chain to stand up and an iron ball with part of its chain placed in her hands. She could feel the chain tugging on her right ankle brace.

“You are sex slave number One-eight-six; you have no other name; mention to anyone what your name was and you will be back in the pit for five days. You will speak only when spoken to and perform any imaginable sex act with men or women as commanded directly or return to the pit!” It was a woman’s voice.

She was then pulled by the neck chain to follow carrying the ball. She must have staggered about a hundred yards turning several times and was then prompted to set down the ball. She jerked in shock as she was hose sprayed with lukewarm water smelling like soap. The blind fold was removed and she was ordered to sit on a stool and keep her eyes closed. Someone washed her hair and then rinsed it with the hose.

Next she was led to another room carrying her ball and left alone while large fans blowing like a hurricane drying her body and eventually her hair. She was then led to another room and ordered to sit in a salon chair. Her hair was combed and set by a woman in a hooded robe. While another woman ankle chained to the floor and wearing only red shorts with her ass cheeks showing, shaved her legs and arm pits. When finished another ankle-chained female in red shorts applied some lipstick and a little make up.

She was then ordered her to pick up the ball and led away. The guard wore a floor length dark gray almost black hooded robe’ the hood nearly covered her eyes. A chain necklace held several key like items dangling to her waists line. She also carried a riding crop attached by a short strap to her wrist

She was led through a hall way or tunnel which seemed to be cut through solid rock to another room and told to set down the ball and stand on an X painted on the floor. It appeared to be a doctor’s office. There were three other patients standing next to her, one of them a beautiful blindfolded chesty tranny with a large penis.

A woman entered in a lab coat and sat down at a desk. A short black female wearing those strange shorts and ankle-chained to a ring in the floor handed her a file. She read part of it.
“One-eight-six your former named is now erased from our records. Let’s see… Six-foot two, one hundred and seventy pounds, age Nineteen, High school in ….” her voice trailed off as she read silently for a while. “Last medical check up Chicago February…” Her voices trailed off again as she picked out a separate page “Ah yes a copy of the doctors report.”

How could they have that? Her birth control pills were in her purse but not the doctor’s address or his private file on her. The doctor proceeded with a physical inspection. You had a complaint with that Doctor about a pain in your side, is that still a concern?

“No doctor, just a sore muscle from working out I think.”

“Ah yes fitness training here is compulsory; you’ll find our exercise program strenuous but necessary for maintaining your body in peak condition for our clients.” She felt her breast almost weighing them with her hands; DD’s?”

“Yes doctor.”

“Nicely shaped too good firm texture, get on the table!” She obeyed and placed her feet in the stirrups while the Doctor inserted the speculum. After finishing the examination she began to finger her erotically. How is your sexual libido; do you climax readily?”

“I’m…I’m multi orgasmic Doctor.”

“Very large clitoris, let’s see how sensitive?” She gasped and nearly climaxed. “Don’t hold back ‘One-eight-six’ I need to ascertain your sexual response level.” She stroked her inside thigh for a while and then manipulated her vagina penetrating and stroking with two fingers while her other hand fondled her mound and clit. She moaned a quick climax. The doctor then stroked the tattoo “Your ID’s healing well. At what age did you first experiment with masturbation?” she began to finger her nipples and then bend down sucking on one.

“At twelve or thirteen I think Doctor.”

“That came up well, nice size.” She sucked on the other nipple making it emerge. “What was your sexual orientation?” She wondered why she said: ‘was you sexual orientation.’

“I go both ways Doctor.”


“Yes Doctor it makes no difference.”

“Excellent, no forced motivation program required;” she made a note in her folder. “At what age did you have the first lesbian encounter; and the ages and ethnic backgrounds of your partners?’

“Sixteen, white girls my own age, at first except a couple of teachers and a neighbor in their late thirties but later I preferred mostly blacks and Latinos.”

“And male?”

“Eighteen, oh no seventeen; white at first but mainly blacks as I got older, my age or younger.”

“Why the preference for blacks?”

“I don’t know male blacks seem to be more intensely hungry for my body, though most of them climax too quickly; I usually only get off only once or twice with them.”

“Were you a virgin with your first male?”

“No Doctor I broke my hymen with handle of sorts at fourteen I think.” She bent over and kissed her on the lips.

“Very nice full lips; let’s try that again I need a full response.” She obeyed kissing the doctor passionately returning her tongue. That’s better; how many sex partners’ male and female have you had approximately?”

“I think about twenty five or thirty females and about the same number of males maybe less.” She kissed her again using her tongue.

“Your male sex partners were they tall or short?”

“Mostly my height or close, I never cared for shorter men.”

“Interesting, you have a good healthy, diverse sex drive with a gorgeous body. You will be profitable for the syndicate;” she groped her one breast and inside thigh for a moment while breathing deeply, “OK, sit up; I want more tongue this time.” She gave her a long passionately kiss and then sat down at her desk making notes in her folder and on the clipboard. “Guard,” she handed her the clipboard, “transfer this slave to the madam’s office for further assessment and initiation.” She was led out carrying her ball while she studied another clipboard.

She was then brought into another office and ordered by the guard to stand on a painted X in front of a table with her hands behind her head. There were three other females standing against a wall in the same position.

“Ah yes One-eight-six. I am your madam,” she emphasized ‘your’ strongly. It was the voice she’d first heard in the pit; a midget in her late thirties. She was sitting on a female’s ass, lying on a low bench with her head under the table. Another female behind her straddled the bench and the bottom female’s thighs forming the live chairs backrest her breasts draped over the midget’s shoulders.

She scanned the clipboard held by one hand of her backrest, reading out loud some of the information plus the doctor’s notes. Also her date of birth, her adopted parent’s names and the date they died. Her high school graduation grades and names of friends and clubs she had belonged to. She then stared at her critically, scanning her body from head to toe.

“This was your past life, which I herby order you to erase from memory. You will never speak to anyone about your life, other than your age, country of birth and general location of your abduction, on the pains of going back to the pit You are now One-eight-six a numbered sex slave who’s only purpose in life is to provide sexual satisfaction to our clients, as well as selected members of the staff..”

“And if I don’t” she snapped back.

“Guard, throw this disrespectful female in a rat infested pit for an indeterminate time.” She was dragged away by several guards and taken to the pit. Not blindfolded this time she saw the huge plug type cover four feet thick that would be hoisted down to close her tomb. First they fastened short chains between her wrist and ankle braces. They hoisted her down head first, half way down telling her to look around the pit after turning on a light. She screamed while jerking and twisting her body violently, seeing several large rats scurry into a hole in the wall. Once the hook was off her chain she crawled onto the bed trembling in terror while hugging her knees as the pails were lowered and the concrete cover plug entombed her with the rats.

She shuddered, cried and screamed for hours before settling down. Somehow they never bit her but every hour of every day was a pure hell. Whenever they changed her pails she screamed to let her out to no avail; she even in her desperation begged to be lashed. She shook and cried in relief after four days when hoisted out and continued to tremble and sob while being hosed and prepared for the madam’s office.

“Well, well let us see…Oh yes…One-eight–six, back from her vacation. How are the rats? This time we fed them; next time we won’t and there’ll be snakes.” She shuddered unable to open her mouth, while the madam leaned back in a pair of white tits while rocking her body to get more comfortable on a black ass. “Where were we?” She fingered the nipple of one of the tits hanging over her shoulder squeezing it hard making the slave winch while pointing at a clipboard. Her live back rest reached for the board and held it for the madam while gently caressing one of her madam’s breasts with her other hand. “Oh yes, here we are; I had just told you the following: You are now a numbered sex slave who’s only purpose in life is to provide sexual satisfaction to our client’s etcetera. Do we…have a problem with being a totally…subservient and willing sex slave today dear?” She glared at her with an indifferent arrogance.

“No…no madam I…I’m v…v…very s…sorry.”

“Oh that is so nice,” she purred smiling at her sweetly. Now as I said, that is what you are, a sex slave and you will submit to anyone we order you to regardless of age, looks or gender but more importantly, you…will provide sexual pleasure with dedication and passion and be totally submissive! You will…love any and all clients or staff when ordered, as if you were a teenager in love.

“Understand this! Your life is no longer a right…but a privilege…totally owned by the syndicate and managed by me and the Warden as we see fit. You are simply a piece of merchandise, like any item in a shopping mall that we lease like any other business to make a profit.

“We provide real-life sex-slaves to wealthy clients…not call girls or prostitutes…pretending or acting the role of sex slaves; this is the reality of your life, twenty-four seven for as many years as your body remains sexually desirable to our clients.” She scanned her body critically. “You’re nineteen, so probably for the next ten years you’ll spread those long beautiful legs nearly every day for the pleasure of a client.” She took a deep breath leering at her body the way a man would.

“We lease you for a fee like any article leased by a business, cars for instance and just like a car you have absolutely no say in the transaction. You will submit to any imaginable sex act ordered which can include physical violence short of drawing blood. That’s right my dear…some of our clients are sadist and thrive on inflicting pain, usually with…but not limited to the riding crop, which is standard equipment amongst other toys in our sex accommodation rooms. I am not going to ask you to agree or disagree with these conditions, do you know why dear?”

“Yes madam, I have no choice.”

“That was a wise answer,” her expression hardened. “You know by now the consequence of back talk or any other form of insubordination. Do you not?”

“Yes madam I would be thrown in the pit again.”

“I think we have the start of a beautiful relationship, you and me. I am your madam and along with the Warden, we are God all mighty to you and you are just One-eight-six, a number and numbers have no rights and do not express opinions. You are a non-person. You can of course deny we are Gods and vacation in the pit anytime if you should foolishly claim to have rights.

“Since you now seem to be wisely silent in the manner of any inanimate object, I will as your madam, welcome you to the reality of slavery. She motioned the slave behind her who lifted her off her live chair, setting her gently on the floor. She held out her hand and a riding crop was placed in it; looking back at the live chair she pointed at the wall with the riding crop. They both scurried to line up with the other three against the wall; turning their backs while leaning over, hands high on the wall, arching their backs and rotating their asses slowly while moaning expectantly. She then approached One-eight-sic, smiling sadistically.

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