I stood and unfolded myself from the seat. Though I’d taken care to get up and move around during the 9 hour flight, my body was heavy and unresponsive. John, an American man I’d sat next to on the flight, helped me retrieve my hand luggage from the overhead storage and I joined the shuffling queue of passengers alighting at O’Hare International airport. I was booked into the Congress plaza hotel and had absolutely no idea how far away it was or how much longer I would need to endure before reaching a comfortable bed. I followed the signs through passport control and baggage retrieval and loaded my trolley with suitcases. John caught my eye and smiled, mouthing ‘you OK?’ to ensure I was coping with my first solo trip abroad. I nodded, grateful to have a guardian angel, and followed the stream of travellers, through customs with surprising ease and speed. My heart sank when I saw the length of the taxi queue, but what was the alternative?

Chicago was immense compared to the insignificant pin prick in the UK from which I originated and I gave thanks that Hotel and expenses were being picked up by the company that had invited me for the job interview. The line took a step forward and I moved with it.

“Hey Cathy.” A voice called and I instinctively looked around, though there was no possibility that anyone was calling me. “Hey Cathy! Can I give you a lift? My wife is coming to pick me up. We’d be happy to drop you somewhere.”

My white night was once again coming to my rescue. “John, you’ve saved my life.”

He grinned and threw his own case on top of mine, before pushing the trolley towards the pick-up point.
Abruptly, his phone rang.

“Ah Ok.” John said into the device. “How long?” He paused, while the other person spoke. “OK not a problem. We’ll grab a coffee while we’re waiting.” He hung up and turned to me. There’s heavy traffic on the Kennedy Expressway, Jen’s going to be around 30 minutes. I told her we’d grab a coffee. She’ll call when she’s on her way.

Usually I’d have worried about being picked up by a strange man, but his expensive business suit and the fact that his wife was collecting him put me at my ease. We made our way back into the airport terminal and found a table in Starbucks. I rambled on nervously, about my home, my family – how it felt to be invited for an interview at the illustrious Baker and McKenzie law firm. For the most part he listened, nodding here and there in my story.

“Beep Beep”

John fished out his phone. “She’s almost here,” he said. “Best drink up.”

As he reached for his coffee, his phone fell to the floor and rattled around my feet. ”I’ve got it!” I cried, and ducked under the table to retrieve it.

“Thanks.” He said coolly. “Now drink up and we’ll go and meet Jen.”

I swilled down the remains of my drink in two large gulps and followed John to the door. His pace had quickened and I struggled to keep up. “Jen only has 15 minutes before she gets a ticket.” He explained and I half walked and half jogged alongside him to match his stride. I was exhausted by the time we reached the car. “OK if we put your bags on the back seat?”

“Sure.” I replied, feeling strangely lightheaded after such a mild exertion. I flopped onto the backseat, hardly able to keep my eyes open.

“Everything OK?” A woman’s voice asked.

“Perfect,” John replied.

I awoke aching and bitterly cold. Bleak stone walls surrounded me and above a naked low wattage light bulb hung from the ceiling. I sat upright, trying to pull my senses together, trying to understand what had happened, where I was and why I was naked. The bed on which I sat was little more than a damp mattress laid over a low bench and there were no bed clothes to keep out the chill. I lowered my foot to the floor and instantly regretted it. The floor was soaked, as though water seeped upwards through the stone. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms about them, both warming and protecting me as I waited for my eyes to focus.

I looked around. The walls were bare stone and the ceiling cracked with flaking white paint. There were no windows and a single small door, which I instinctively knew to be locked. I was in a cellar of some kind and horror overtook me as the gravity of the situation became apparent. Naked and alone in a strange city. At least I assumed it was a city. If I’d been unconscious for any length of time I could be almost anywhere in the American Mid-west. Tears began to flow and in the dim light there was no one to see the streaks of mascara on my cheeks. I opened my mouth to call for help, but held my voice. Perhaps if I remained silent, my abductor may leave me be for just a little longer.

 

a nice compact concise introduction.

it already shows to be very interesting, I am not a fan of rape stories, but if the rest is as interesting as this, please keep this going

thank you, Nadoknar

 

Collect yourself, that was my next thought. Think, how did this happen? His cell phone, when my supposed white night had dropped it, and I instinctively ducked down to retrieve it, he must have drugged my coffee! That's it! The drug and the caffeine combination along with my increased heart rate as I tried to keep pace with him made it course through my system much faster! OK, now I've figured that out.

Why me? Who were this wretched couple? Most likely, I will at some point, be sexually violated or expected to perform sexual acts. At least I hope that's it. Then what? Will I be sold into some white slavery sex trade? What can I do? Remain calm, do what they say, don't resist, stay alive! That is my main goal! Stay alive! Try and figure out where I am. Main thing, use my head and remain calm and submissive.

Suddenly the door rattled, as if a key was being inserted. As I intently watched, the knob turned and the door opened!

 

The room suddenly became painfully bright and I squinted and waited for my eyes to adjust. The light in the cellar was on some kind of dimmer switch, kept low and depressing when I had been alone, but now suddenly blazing brightly so that I was engulfed in its revealing radiance. The dark shape looming over me became a man, became John, my saviour at the airport, my abductor.

“So you’re awake.” He said simply. His hand reached out and I flinched, pulling away. At once the palm of his hand came across my face, numbing rather than painful. “You will learn obedience Cathy.” He smirked. “Before all else, you will be obedient.”

I had a thousand questions, each tripping over the other and unable to come out.

“Why?” I managed at last.

“Because you made it so easy.” He smirked. "And because I wanted you."

“Where am I? People will be looking for me, at home and in the US.” I argued, but his humour didn’t change.

“Let them look. You were out cold for almost 6 hours. Do you know how far we drove in that time? Not so much a needle in a haystack, but in a thousand haystacks. Besides, do you know how many girls disappear on the streets of Chicago? They just wander off the beaten track and are never seen again. To the overburdened police you're a statistic, nothing more.”

I felt like spitting in his face, but controlled my temper. Any outburst would simply result in another slap – or worse.”

“Then what will you do with me?” I asked. I realised that I was unconsciously covering myself and was acutely aware how vulnerable I was.

He pondered for a moment. “Well right now I think I should introduce you to your new family.”

He saw the confusion on my face and laughed. “Get up.”

I stood reluctantly and John spun me around roughly, pulling my arms behind me so that he could snap handcuffs onto my wrists.

He pushed me through the cellar door and up a narrow flight of stairs into a kitchen, no cleaner than the vault I’d come from. He took my arm and half steered, half dragged me to another door. Sunlight filtered through the dirty glass and I could feel it’s warmth on my skin. He opened it and thrust me out onto the wooden porch.

It took me a moment to understand. I was no longer in Chicago, but on what appeared to be a huge farm. There were several small houses, barns and outbuildings, and within the courtyard a crowd had gathered, perhaps 2 dozen men and women. There were no children and I noticed that a number of the women were naked.

“This is Sister Catherine.” John announced and there was a ripple of approval. “She has recently joined us and I’m sure you will all make her feel most welcome. She has much to learn, but I sure with our help she will progress quickly.

“You’re fucking crazy!” I blurted. “You’re all fucking crazy!”

John grabbed the chain between my wrists and tugged upwards sharply. “I cried out as my arms were raised behind me and I fell to my knees. He released me, but the relief was short lived. John grabbed a handful of hair and dragged me through the throng to a wooden trough. He plunged my head into the cool water and held be under until I thought my lungs would burst.

When he pulled me up and I gasped and coughed, while all around the ever growing crowd laughed. Clearly this was something they had seen before and eagerly anticipated the outcome.

“Rule 1 – You do not speak to your elders and betters in that way.”

He thrust me beneath the water again, but this time I had time to take a gulp of air and managed to hold my breath until he chose to pull me out.

“Rule 2. – You belong to us now and you will respect every member of the commune and obey without question.

He thrust me beneath the water again and held be there for much longer this time. I kicked and thrashed, but he saw this as an indication that I was still defianant and held me under until my flailing stopped. I fell to the floor, where I lay coughing water from my lungs. The dust from the earthen yard clung to my skin, quickly forming a crust as it dried. John squatted down beside me and sneered.

“Rule 3. – We can do whatever we like to you. No one will ever find you, no one will hear you scream and if we decide to get rid of you – no one will ever find your body. Understand?”

I understood only too well and nodded weekly.

“Good. Now get up and clean that filth off yourself before I present you to our leader.

I struggled to my feet, falling a couple of times before eventually succeeding and stood before the hungry crowd. Lustful eyes bore into me from all directions, but I hoped that no one would act without their leader’s permission.

“Clean yourself!” John hissed and pushed me towards the trough.

With my hands cuffed behind me I had no choice. I stepped into the water and submerged myself, letting the dust dissolve away. When I surfaced John was waiting. I dragged me to my feet and with his face only inches away from mine growled menacingly. “You expect the horses to drink after you’ve fouled their water?”

“I’m sorry, I thought . . .” I didn’t finish.

“Tell me.” He asked. “How should you be punished for such behaviour.”

I remained silent. It was clear that this was an initiation of sorts, to show me my place. Had I refused to wash I would have been punished, and when I stepped into the trough I was fouling the water and had to be punished. Whatever I said would be wrong; I couldn’t win and so I would simply accept.

“Tell me!” He barked.

 

Keep this story going girls!

 

Another story constantly involving told from two different points of view. I am looking forward to more.

 

Please keep it going. I love reading the two of yours stories

 

Rebecca’s story

At the edge of the crowd a young woman watched with interest. The humiliation ritual was exactly the same as the one she had wept and cried through six month earlier and witnessed twice since. This girl seemed stronger, Rebecca thought, and hoped that it would not count against her.

“Please, take me home.” The Catherine asked, but although there was a slight tremor in her voice there were no tears. There was something strange about her accent too, Rebecca thought. European Perhaps. Rebecca took a step forward, and for a moment the woman’s eye fixed on her.

“It’s OK.” Rebecca mouthed silently, hoping that her false smile had reassured the woman as intended. However, Rebecca knew from experience just how intimidated Catherine must feel standing naked in front of a crowd of monsters.

The man Rebecca knew as John stood proudly next to his woman, showing her off as he would a prize racehorse. He repeated his demand. “Tell me how you should be punished?” He grabbed her chin and turned her face towards him “Fuck me!” She snarled. “Fuck me in front of all of your friends to prove to them what a stud you are!”

John stood frozen for a moment and Rebecca could not stop herself from smiling. Perhaps he’d bitten off more than he could chew this time.”

For a moment John stood shaking with anger, but as much as he wanted to strike, he did not raise his hand. Instead he grabbed a handful of hair and dragged her to one of the posts that held up the ramshackle roof of the porch. At once two men jumped up, armed with ropes and secured the woman to the beam so that she was held fast.

John left her tied and helpless, striding across the square to the open doors of the forge and emerged a moment later with a branding iron, its tip glowing bright orange.

To those present it was clear that this was all carefully choreographed; the men with ropes conveniently at hand, the iron already in the fire, but Rebecca remembered the effect its appearance had had on her; she’d wet herself in fear and screamed until her lungs burned. But the woman made no sound. Even as John held it up before her so that its heat warmed her face, she did not cry for mercy as Rebecca had done, she simply screwed her eyes together and waited. A single tear trickled over the Catherine’s cheek and John took this as a victory. He moved the iron downwards over her breasts and belly and hovered over her shaven mound.

The woman screamed in agony, though Rebecca now knew how the trick worked. John had pressed a piece of ice to her flesh and it is well known that under such stressful situations the mind cannot distinguish between hot and cold. In Catherine’s mind the iron had been pushed into her tender skin and even now she could smell the acrid scent of burning flesh.

The gathering laughed, but Rebecca’s face remained impassive.

“Free her.” I voice said with authority and Rebecca averted her face, though her eyes followed the new arrival. The master approached arrogantly, his evil smile distorted by the scar on his lip.

As the bonds were released, Catherine fell to her knees, her hand searching for her seared flesh, confused to find it unblemished. “The mind is a powerful tool” the master said simply squatting down and raising her chin so that he could look into her eyes. “But it is weak and will break long before your body.” Catherine tried to look away, but he held her fast. “You will quickly learn obedience or we will break you, both mentally and physically.” He stood and turned to John. “Take her to my villa and have her prepared.

 

Catherine's cleansing

As I was led away I glimpsed across to the woman at the edge of the group. Throughout my initiation, her eyes had never left me and at one point I was sure she’d tried to send me a message, perhaps tell me I was being tricked. She was whispering to the large man at her side, and somehow her svelte, boyish looks seemed exaggerated by his overpowering bulk. He seemed pleased with what she was saying, but my thoughts were largely selfish as I worried about my own fate. I was taken to the main building, a large stone homestead in stark contrast to the ramshackle hut in which I’d been staying thus far. The tiled floors were meticulously clean and felt cool beneath my feet. I imagined a young servant following me around sweeping and mopping as the drying dust and sand crumbled and fell away from my body as I walked.

I was shown into a small room, little more than a cupboard, with walls and floor tiled white. There were no seats, no furnishings and no windows. The harsh light from a flickering neon bulb overhead, intensified by the bright decor blinded me and I closed my eyes while I put my back ot the wall and slid to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. The reality of my situation was beginning to sink in and I fought the terror that threatened to take hold. Before, it seemed too incredible to be true, too bazaar, but here in my white cell it all felt so uncomfortably real. My eyes were reddened with tears when the door opened 30 minutes later. I looked up and struggled to focus. It was the girl from the courtyard.

She squatted down beside me. “Hold it together girl.” She whispered, “They’re playing with your mind.”

I nodded in understanding, but the knowledge did not ease my suffering. She helped me to my feet and only now did I notice that she too was naked, though she carried it with such ease that at first I hadn’t noticed. She seemed to find an invisible button on the wall and at once water showered down from the ceiling. It was bitterly cold, but the woman seemed not to notice. “I’m called Rebecca.” She said.

“Catherine.” I shivered in reply.

“I know, but if it’s not from the bible you’d better get ready to change it.”

“It’s a religious cult?” I already knew the answer, but Rebecca’s reply startled and worried me.

“It’s all a front.” She responded. “They talk about the bible and name themselves after the disciples, but it’s all a front to keep the authorities from bursting in and shooting the lot of them.” While she spoke, Rebecca scrubbed me with a bar of carbolic soap, hoping to scour the disgust from my flesh. The soap was harsh and Rebecca’s touch surprisingly strong for one so slight.

“I am to prepare you for your introduction to the ‘family’. She spat out the final word with undisguised contempt. “You will be interviewed by our master, and most likely you will be given to John in a bastardised form of a marriage ceremony.”

I looked at her in horror.

“I know,” she said simply. “But the truth is, women come and go in this place like the weather. They arrive as you have and disappear without a trace. Your predecessor, Sarah, vanished a month ago. My advice would be to keep him interested. I think that when he grows bored of you, you’ll wake up one morning in a shallow grave.”

“Interested?”

She exhaled like a mother telling a young girl why she should look both ways before crossing the street. “Find out what he likes, what he expects, and make sure he gets it, whenever he wants.”

I nodded in understanding.

Happy that I was clean, Rebecca led me from the shower. In an adjacent room she towelled me dry and rubbed scented oil into my skin until it shimmered like the sun on the ocean and I smelled like sunset on a tropical island.

Rebecca carefully opened a small box that I’d not noticed until now. I assumed she’d left it here before joining me in the shower.

“What?” I asked incredulously, pulling out the contents. “I’ll look like a hooker in a 70’s porn movie. And they claim this is religion?”

“No.” Rebecca corrected. “This the cheapest whore house in the mid-west. They only call it the brotherhood of the divine incarnation so that men with guns don’t come in here shooting.

Rebecca helped me into my outfit, Black bra and panties edged in red, suspenders and stockings. The shoes looked like they were my own, presumably raided from my luggage. I fiddled with the bra. It was too big by far and my small breasts failed to fill the cups.

“They belonged to Sarah,” Rebecca said, “she was a much bigger woman than you. Can we pad you out?”

“What?”

“Wait here.” She hurried out of the room and the click as the door locked reminded me that I was still a prisoner, no matter how friendly the guards. She returned a short time later with matching bra and panties from my own luggage. They were much plainer than the lacy ones I’d tried earlier, but suited me much better and pushed my breasts up invitingly.

Rebecca dried my hair and applied make up, before standing up my shoes for me to step into.

“That’ll do nicely.” She said with a smile, and added a warning. “The master might want to fuck you before giving you to John. Make sure you make all the right noises. He needs to hear you writhing and moaning.”

“Give him what he wants.” I said remembering the earlier advice.

“Exactly.”

Rebecca led me through a maze of corridors, and I couldn’t help notice the fading marks on her back. I assumed from a beating or beatings, but the bruising was almost gone and I assumed that she’d behaved herself in recent weeks. Without thinking I reached out to touch them and Rebecca stopped and turned.

“They’re a gift from my owner.” She said plainly. “He likes me to resist, but in my early days I would fight tooth and nail. Perhaps I thought the punishment would be deserved for not killing myself, when I so longed my torment to end. Now I know better.”

I wasn’t sure whether she meant that she had learnt her lesson or that she had other plans, but I didn’t answer. Rebecca turned away and I followed in silence.

At a pair of huge double doors she stopped and turned, adjusting my hair. “It’s over to you now. Take care Catherine.” She knocked on the door and left me alone, waiting like a whore at the door of my pimp.

 

It seems like Catherine has found someone who will help prepare her for what may follow. But is she a friend or an enemy? Only time will tell as the story continues.

 

Meeting the Master

The doors swung inward, like those from an old hollywood epic. I half expected to see Elizabeth tailor as Cleopatra luxuriating in a bath of ass’s milk. Instead I found myself stepping into an ordinary, if very spacious, bedroom, a huge mahogany four-poster dominating the space. For a moment it appeared deserted, but abruptly a man stepped through a curtain of beads and curled his lips into a crooked smile.

“Come in Cathy. He said amicably, though there was malice in his eyes. Welcome to my most intimate chamber, though as you can see I live simply as we’re all equal in Gods eyes. I wondered if he’d laid eyes on the hovel in which I’d awoken earlier, but kept my thoughts to myself.

I stood motionless as he inspected me, seeking out the tiniest flaw, but to my surprise and his annoyance, he found none.

“Catherine.” He said, “that’s a very old name. Were you named after Catherine the great of Russia perhaps?”

Christ! I thought, is that the best you can do? I steeled myself. I would not let him take my name, As Rebecca had indicated would happen. I would fight for my identity. I was actually named after my grandmother, but instead told a story more fitting to the situation. “I’m named after St Catherine of the wheel.” I said. “As you no doubt recall, Sir, err master, she was a 4th century pagan princess who found god and dedicated her life to bring his word to her people.” The vacant look told me how devout this Christian was and I continued to enlighten him. “She was persecuted by the Roman’s, where the emperor Maximus brought his best philosophers to disprove her Christian beliefs, though all failed. Eventually, Maximus had her condemned to torture and death upon a great wheel, but God intervened and the wheel was broken.

“Then she lived and continued to spread the word.” He concluded.

“No sir, they cut off her head.”

He nodded, seemingly in deep thought. “Anything else about this saint that you think important.”

I opened my lips to tell him that she died a virgin, but thought better of it. I shook my head.

“Good.” He said. “We usually insist on our disciples taking a name from the bible, but I think your saint has given us a fine example to follow. You will remain Catherine.”

I celebrated my first victory, but it was short lived.

“Undress.” He commanded.

I reluctantly obeyed, taking off my shoes and stockings and carefully folding them and laying them on a chair by the door. I added my suspender belt and bra, taking as much time as I could to delay the inevitable. I stepped out of my panties and turned to him.

Again he inspected me, searching desperately for imperfections. “You will have your hair cut short and your mound will always be naked as it is now. This will be a sign of your devotion to the brotherhood. I remained silent. “As you know,” he continued as giving a speech he’d perfected over the years, “God made man in his own image and gave him woman so that she could serve him and bear his children. And so you will serve us. You will take any command given by a man as Gods word and will obey without question. Do you understand?”

Oh I understood. I understood how he’d stepped back almost 2 millennia to impose xenophobic politics just so that he could enjoy a regular fuck. But I was in no position to argue.

“Good.” He said in triumph, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Then here is your first test.” I waited, but he said nothing.

I stepped forward without a word and knelt on the floor. His knees parted in approval and I reached forward to unbutton his trousers. He lay back and raised his buttocks so that I could slide the thick canvas garment over his legs, discarding it carelessly.

His penis was as unimpressive as his grasp of Christianity, but I dutifully massaged it to life. As it came to life, like Lazarus rising from the dead, I lowered my face and balked momentarily (and hopefully unobserved) at the strong stench of stale urine. My lips parted and his salty semi-erection slid into my mouth. As I washed away the rank odour with my tongue and saliva, he became firmer and I prayed he’d fuck me rather than expect me to swallow his rancid seed.

He moaned and sighed, but made no indication that he wanted more than to have my soft lips around his swollen member. I closed my eyes and remembered Rebecca’s advice. Give him what he wants, what he expects. The doors opened behind me, but I didn’t turn around, intent on bringing the master to orgasm as quickly as I could. My tongue writhed and whirled around his cock as my hands soothed and caressed his body. I felt him tense and fucked him brutally with my mouth, slurping and gagging to quickly end his pleasure. AS expected I swallowed his cum, trying not to let it linger on my tongue.

At last, he lay still and I released his dwindling cock and sat back on my heels, acutely aware of the presence behind me.

The master sat up. “You have done well brother John.” He said. “But she betrayed you without encouragement and will need your firm hand, I fear, if you hope to control her.”

Another mind game, I thought. I bowed my head, not wanting to look up to either man.

“I fear her will may be too strong for you brother, but will not see her life wasted just yet. I will try to break her for you, but it will not be easy.”

My head snapped up, eyes blazing.

“Leave her with me.” He said, “But in recompense, take one of my wives to warm your bed. I will leave the choice to you.”

“Yes master.” John said almost enthusiastically and I had the feeling that there was a woman he had long coveted amongst the Master’s harem.

John hurried out leaving me alone with the master. The man rose to his feet, a strand of cum swinging from his limp cock latched onto his knee and hung suspended for a brief moment before adhering to his thigh as he crossed the room to where my whore’s outfit lay. He bundled them up and threw them into the fire that blazed in the generous hearth.

“And so begins your training.” He said. “But first I need to determine suitable punishment for your adultery. You were betrothed to John and yet you actively pursued another.”

His choice of words, betrothed, adultery, made my stomach knot in fury.

“So, Catherine of the wheel, we will make an example of you to inspire us all.”

****

If you're enjoying the story, why not PM me (or add a comment here) to tell me where you'd like the story to go next . . . ​

 

Just like John Lennon writes "Im just sitting here watching the wheel go round and round" Wondering where this story will go from here.

 

The wheel

I stood before the great wheel and peered into the dark pit in which it sat. It rose perhaps 15 feet above me and disappeared into the darkness below. Its massive wooden axel was pinned and jointed with cracked and decaying timbers and overall it looked like something that belonged in a museum. It appeared to have been in disuse for many years but, through Catherine’s stupidity, it was ready for its resurrection. She cursed on her breath. ‘Catherine of the fucking wheel indeed’.

A young man easily vaulted across the narrow pit and caught hold of one of the spokes of the wheel, quickly finding a foot hold and shuffling out towards. Another man jumped the chasm, and did likewise, I was led to the rim, where buckets, the size of horse troughs had been bolted to the circumference. A prod in my back told me that it was my turn to jump. The distance was no more than a short step and as I landed safely, the man waiting pulled a length of chord from his waist and quickly bound my hands together leaving a tong tail of rope.

“Turn around” The master ordered and I shuffled on the trough, afraid that I’d fall. At once the rope was pulled taught and my hands were drawn above my head with such force that my feet al but came off the wooden bucket. I stood on tiptoes, arched backwards with a crossbeam painfully digging into the small of my back but I made no complaint. I’d decided that the best way to survive was simply to endure. These people were intent on my torture, and I would not beg for mercy – perhaps this is what they were waiting for.

My ankles were bound together and secured and finally a rope was wrapped around my waist fixing me firmly to the beam.

The crowd watched in silence and I caught sight of the woman who had encouraged me earlier. This time her face was filled with concern and I felt my heart sinking. I could hear the water rushing beneath me, the sluices had been opened and the wheel creaked and groaned, desperate to turn with the flow.

The master came to the edge of the pit and spoke loudly so that I was sure to hear. “Take her down after an hour. Not a second before.” There was a crack and grinding screech as the break was released and I found myself rising upwards. I started breathing deeply in anticipation of being immersed, gasping for oxygen as I floated upwards and began my inverted descent. I watched the sun and sky turn into distant upside down buildings and then there was darkness. I took a breath and counted. One, two, three . . . five six, seven. The icy mountain water covered my face and crept slowly down my body. Fourteen, fifteen, I was completely submerged, the pain in my wrists and ankles numbed by the analgesic cold. Twenty, twenty one, my head emerged and I took a huge gulp of air. I could do it, I thought, perhaps one minute per revolution, sixty ducking’s in total. But already I knew my error, the wheel was still accelerating. I rose into warm sunlight and through streaks of hair the crowd before me watched curiously as I passed.

One, two, I almost missed my breath as I plunged into the depths, six seven and out. The wheel was spinning so quickly, perhaps disconnected by the machinery it once drove it now spun freely matching the fury of the redirected stream. The challenge was mental rather than physical, keeping my count, concentrating so that I held my breath at the appropriate time and all the while my body cooled until I could scarcely feel my arms and legs. As time passed the crowd diminished, but the girl Rebecca remained. I focused my thoughts on her and while she remained I fought on. Fewer and fewer remained as their interest dwindled, until there was only Rebecca.

“Twenty minutes to go.” She called as I emerged, but though I heard the voice I could not make sense of the words.

“Hold on. You’re almost there.” She cried as I came up again. I coughed, mentally drained I was missing my counts and this time I had swallowed a mouthful of water. The spasms, threw me completely and I missed taking a breath before plunging into the chill again. I was drowning I knew it, slowly and surely. I crested the zenith and began my descent and saw Rebecca beneath me.

“Three, two, one, BREATH!”

I took a breath.

I no longer knew where I was, only that when I was ordered to breath, I inhaled. I no longer knew how long I had endured, but I opened my eyes some time later strapped to a stationary wheel. The sun was trying to burn life back into my frozen body.

Someone was tugging at my feet and I looked down to see Rebecca untying me, her legs wrapped around the frame of the wheel. No one came to help her, though one or two stood and watched, curious to see if I’d survived. She rubbed my feet and legs, bringing the circulation back to them, content to stay until I was able to wriggle my toes. With great agility, she climbed the wheel to untie my hands, cursing and blasting at the complexity of the knot, swollen and impossibly tight, having soaked up so much water. Eventually she succeeded and my arms flopped to my sides.

My strength was beginning to return, but Rebecca would not remove the rope from my waist until I could show her that my legs would support me. Even so she held me tightly, for a moment before we jumped from the wheel together.

For a moment I simply lay on my back, letting the sun bake life into me.

“You disobedient whore.” A man cursed and I turned my head so that I could see him removing his belt. I braced myself for a beating, but the first lash came down and a woman screamed. Rebecca! Rebecca was being punished for helping me. She knelt with her hands over her head with welts forming on her back.

“No!” I pulled myself onto my hands and knees and threw myself over her. The belt came down but my skin was numb from my ordeal and I felt little more than a bee sting. I held on, eyes closed waiting for the next blow, but it never came.

“Enough!” A man’s voice called and I dared to look up. The master strode across the square and the man quickly replaced his belt. “Good,” he said simply.

I slipped from Rebecca’s back and lay in the dust, exhausted by my brief exertion.

The master regarded us for a moment. “We seem to have found a bond of friendship.” He said smugly, squatting down so he could gram a handful of dripping hair and lift my head. “Such weaknesses are not permitted here. Rebecca hurried away and knelt at the side of the man that had been beating her.

“That is not your place now.” The master said. “You belong to me.”

The man opened his mouth to protest, but the master raised a hand to stop him. “You will be given another, but for now I have need of this one. His eyes turned to Rebecca. “Come here.”

Rebecca obeyed without question. The master had unfastened his pants and Rebecca was gently massaging him to erection. He continued to glare at me as his arousal increased and I remained still and silent, confused and terrified. I’d almost died on the wheel, saved only by Rebecca’s support and courage.

The master brushed Rebecca aside and knelt between my legs. I was cold and angry, but he paid that no heed. My enjoyment was not a consideration and he forced his cock into me with callous indifference. I cried out in pain, but had no strength to fight, even if I wanted. He came surprisingly quickly and jumped to his feet without a word as his cum trickled down the crack of my ass. I lay still, fresh tears streaking my cheeks.

“Clean her and bring her to my chambers.” He said to Rebecca. “From this moment, you are her slave. Take off your dress. A slave has no use of such fineries. Michael,” he said addressing a man who stood at his shoulder. “Fine a room for my newest wife and her slave.”

Rebecca threw the cotton sack to the ground and struggled to help me to my feet. Together we hobbled across the courtyard in pursuit of the Michael.

 

I could barely feel my legs, but with Rebecca’s support I managed to cross the cobbles, though Michael had vanished into the large homestead that dominated one side of the yard.

“Watch what you say and do.” Rebecca warned. “There are camera’s everywhere. Microphones too. They watch us constantly and all transgression, no matter how trivial are punished. To be honest,” she continued. “Even if everyone is perfectly behaved, there is always a reason to punish someone.” We staggered on. “When we get to our room, lay still and feign exhaustion. It may give you a little extra time to recover.”

There would be little need of feigning, I had nothing left to give and simply wanted to sleep for a week.

We entered the building. I’d been out in the sun for so long that my ‘English’ skin was glowing red and the cool breeze from the aircon made me shiver. Michael stood waiting impatiently, annoyed at our lack of urgency and without a word he threw me over his shoulder and marched off, Rebecca scurrying behind. He entered a bare room and dumped me onto the bed and at once Rebecca ran to me.

“Master.” She called after Michael as he headed for the door. “Master, her skin has been burned by the sun and she needs cream to prevent it from blistering. My mistress is foreign and not used to our desert heat.”

The man considered for a moment, no doubt wondering how his own master would feel if I were presented with the flesh peeling from my bones. “I’ll have something sent.”

“Lie still Mistress.” Rebecca soothed and then added almost silently. “We are always being watched.”

****

Some seven hundred miles to the east Jenny Morgan burst into her boss’s office. “Frank, I have something you need to look at.” At once a man in a dark grey suit came to his feet and followed Karen back to the small room where 3 male operatives huddled around a computer screen. Karen pushed her way through and the men returned to their desks.

Frank Clarke Pulled up a chair and sat trying to make sense of the collage of images. “It’s a new website?”

“I don’t think so. It’s been around for a number of years, but for some reason it’s just come up on our radar.”

“Ok.” Frank said. “It looks like a fairly typical BDSM site – if a little Amish. What am I looking at?”

“Here.” She said clicking on one of the tiny pictures. A full blown image of a woman strapped to a water wheel appeared.

“As I said a fairly typical BDSM site. As long as it’s all consensual, there’s no crime committed.”

Jenny opened a file on her desk and pulled out a missing person’s report. “Look familiar?”

“Shit!” he exclaimed, his eyes darting from one the screen to the photograph stapled to the report.

“Catherine Montrose.” Jenny offered. “Took a flight to Chicago day before yesterday. She left the airport alone and never arrived at her hotel. Chance in a million that I found her just as the report came through.”

“Can you get any more?” Frank asked. “Only if you have $1500 to spare for a subscription.”

“$1500? Christ what is going on in there? Do it! Use your Amex, I’ll send through the authorisation before I leave this afternoon and Have Hal try to trace the account details

Jenny flashed through the registration process like one who had joined a thousand member’s only porn sites; which probably wasn’t too far off her actual total. On the homepage Kenny, as she’d called herself, had the option to select from a series of categories including humiliation, torture, bondage, etc. The usual stuff. Or they could select a girl and see what she’d been up to that week.

Catherine had only been missing for two days, but already she had a profile and two attached video clips.

Jenny opened up the first – ‘Welcome to the Sanctuary’ and watched Catherine’s initiation with the branding iron and ice. “Its mental torture.” She said to herself, though loud enough that Frank could here.

“It is that.”

She opened the second clip and her jaw dropped. Two men were roughly strapping Catherine to a wheel and despite her horror, Jenny could not look away. Catherine was stunningly beautiful, she thought, her skin pure and white and Jenny felt a twitch of arousal, imagining that she were being tied to the device. She watched as the wheel began to turn, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed. The clip had been edited to ten minutes so that only the beginning and the end of the ordeal was included, including 4 minutes where a man used her near unconscious body.

“You’ve saved the clips?” Frank asked.

Jenny nodded.

“Get them across to the guys in facial recognition. If anyone on these are in the system I want to know about it.”

Jenny returned home that night; her husband was working late and she turned on her laptop. She’d not had a chance to explore the website further at work and unusually logged in on her own time. There were perhaps two dozen girls on the list, going back almost 5 years and Jenny clicked on one at random. Miriam opened up smiling, but there was fear in her eyes. Catherine opened up a clip and watched two men caning her with bamboo. Miriam’s body was red and marked with thick welts, tear’s streaming down her cheeks. It looked so real. These men were hurting her, not simply pretending as you’d find on your average BDSM channel. There appeared to be hundreds of clips – most very short, sorted in chronological order ranging from July 2009 to November 2010. Jenny clicked on the last. It was under 3 minutes long and Jenny cried as a woman’s body was tossed into a shallow pit and covered with earth.

It was horrific, but Jenny (or Kenny) had to find Catherine. She returned to the list and opened up Catherine’s profile.

It was largely blank. There was a photograph of her standing naked, seemingly unaware of the photographer and beneath the two existing clips a note had been added in the two hours since she’d registered. It read “Live feed – coming soon.”

That night Jenny didn’t sleep, the vision of a woman on a wheel replaying again and again in her mind.

 

This story is developing nicely. I am looking forward to reading more.