Flaring heat erupted across her left buttock and Gemma's jaw clenched as she fought not to scream, her fingers clawing at the empty air as a second blow sent matching, blistering heat into her tautly presented right buttock.
A shrill squeal of shock greeted the penetration of knowing fingers between Gemma's thighs, but her instinctive recoil was forestalled by a sharp order, "One more inch, slave, just one and your punishment trebles!"
Explosive gasps of arousal burst from Gemma's nose as skilful caresses sent arousal surging into her belly, but the threat of savage reprisals if she resisted held her captive and her eyes filled with tears of shame and anguish as fear and desire fought for supremacy in her tormented body.
Helpless, she could not stop herself becoming aroused and as her labia and clitoris were stroked and rubbed and caressed, her thighs parted to open her to the wonderful, terrible fingers that created such delicious havoc in her belly.
Instantly, the leather struck again and the order, "Resume the position, slave," forced Gemma to raise her smarting buttocks high in the air once more, despite her fervent wish to spread herself wide and allow the fingers to give her the climax she longed for.
"Hot little slavegirl," a woman's voice whispered in her ear and Gemma, far gone in her need, nodded and moaned, "Yes, Mistress," as her belly swirled and bubbled with furious lust.
"Then you had best climax as a slavegirl," the woman chuckled and her hands burrowed beneath Gemma to fasten on the brunette's nipples as she arched her back to raise her breasts and deliver them into the waiting palms.
The crack of leather across Gemma's bottom, the chuckle of her Mistress and the shrill shriek of ecstasy of a slavegirl at orgasm, blended into one as a mixture of pleasure and pain sent Gemma hurtling into a tremendous climax and her body convulsed to the power of her surrender as heated love juices spurted into her belly and sex, drenching the fingers embedded deep within her.
Shattered, Gemma curled into a tight foetal ball as the hands left her and could only whimper softly to herself, her hands clamped between her thighs as massive spasms of lust raced through and over her as her orgasm ran its course.
Dimly, through her haze of intense sexual pleasure, Gemma heard her handlers discussing her.
"Yes. She shows promise. I don't know where Roxwell finds them.
"No, nor me. Still, as long as he does, we get well paid."
"She should do well at the meeting, I should think."
"Yes, she's just the type they like. Come on, let's get her fixed up for the night. I could do with a nice long drink."
Too exhausted to fight and knowing that any attempt would be doomed to failure, Gemma made no resistance as she was hauled to her feet, marched out of the room and into another, smaller cell with a solid iron door.
"Toilet and basin in there," a casual wave of an arm, "Bed there. We'll feed you in the morning. Get some sleep."
The door clanged shut and bolts grated. Gemma was alone.
She stumbled to the toilet on wobbly legs, drank a little water, then tottered back to the bed where she fell face down and went out like a light.
Her first day as a slave was over....but there were many, many more to come!
CHAPTER 3
In the underground slave quarters where Gemma was held prisoner, the lights burned continuously and she very quickly lost all track of time, disorientated by the absence of the natural rhythms of day and night. Instead, her life came to be ruled by the orders of her handlers and she slipped imperceptibly into an unthinking acceptance of the routine they imposed upon her. When they brought her food, she ate. Ordered to rest, she slept, conserving her strength for the moment she prayed would come. The moment when her captors lowered their guard and unwittingly gave her the opportunity to escape.
It would come, she kept telling herself grimly, it must come, for each time her handlers came to her, Gemma's traitorous body betrayed her, leaping and shuddering and spasming shamefully to their kisses and caresses and, most embarrassingly of all, to the awful and yet guiltily pleasurable smarting of her buttocks as she was punished for some minor failure.
In some ways, the simplicity of her routine and the rigid discipline forced on her, came almost as a relief to Gemma. As a businesswoman, she was used to making tough decisions every day and dealing with the stresses and pressures of fierce competition, but as a captive, she no longer had any choices to make. Her life was straightforward, well defined and limited by the strictly enforced rules set by her captors. All Gemma was required to do was obey and each time she surrendered to the inevitable, her capacity and even her desire to resist, shrank a little more. Time and again, Gemma swore to herself that she would not give in, that she would see her three tormentors and Roxwell and especially Mike, brought to book for what they had done to her, but as the hours and days passed, it became increasingly difficult for her to imagine just how that desire could be achieved.
None of the conspirators involved in her kidnapping were likely to help her and nobody else knew what had happened. Gemma knew she was on her own and racked her brains trying to think of some way out of her predicament.
Her only hope and a very slim one at that, was the meeting Roxwell had mentioned. Maybe someone at that would find out what was going on and insist that she was set free. It wasn't much to pin her hopes on, but it was all Gemma had and she cherished it with every bit of optimism she had left as she lay on her bed awaiting the return of her handlers and the resumption of her training.
"Up, slavegirl," the terse command was accompanied by a sharp smack to the rounded curve of Gemma's left buttock and her eyes snapped open as she was jerked rudely from sleep.
Ingrained responses sent her rolling from the bed and onto her knees, head lowered submissively and her wrists crossed behind her back before her brain was awake enough for Gemma to realise the significance of her actions.
Her face flushed redly as her handlers chuckled, "Very good slavegirl. Your training is obviously bearing fruit. Keep up the good work and you will earn yourself a nice reward."
The sardonic chuckle accompanying the words added to Gemma's embarrassment, but she couldn't help the ripple of arousal that warmed her belly and crotch as she anticipated the nature of the promised "reward".
Each day of her captivity ran to the same ruthless pattern. Awoken from an exhausted sleep by either the skilful arousal of her naked body, or, as on this occasion, the tingling impact of a hand or the Devil's Palm on her unsuspecting buttocks, Gemma was forced to demonstrate her mastery of the basic positions which she, as a slavegirl, was required to assume when ordered to display herself to a Master or Mistress. Each position, whether sitting, standing, kneeling or doubled-over in the frighteningly vulnerable "Punishment" pose, was shamefully explicit, every part of her breasts, crotch and buttocks exposed to view for the enjoyment and use of any watchers who wished her to demonstrate the extent of her submission. Only when her trainers were satisfied with Gemma's efforts was the brunette permitted breakfast ... and only then on her knees with her hands at first tied, but later left free, at the small of her back. The explanation being that she was a slave and, as such, dependent on her Masters for even the food she was given. Or not, as the Masters chose, she trembled to hear.
The demonstration of her complete reliance on her captors reinforced the lesson of their power and Gemma was forced to accept their hand feeding of her, just as she was forced to accept the humiliation of proferring her nudity to their critical scrutiny and enduring their demands to arch her spine, thrust out her breasts and spread her thighs to present herself ever more shamefully.
Resistance or refusal to obey was ruthlessly punished and Gemma soon learned that although her trainers had been forbidden by Roxwell to use whips on her, a combination of cruelly tight bondage and the blistering impact of hard hands or the Devil's Palm on her tautly curved flesh was more than enough to overcome her desire to fight back against the rigid discipline imposed upon her.
Screaming and pleading for mercy, begging to be allowed to obey, Gemma's slim body writhed and twisted in the mesh of ropes securing her as her punished bottom flared a stinging, vivid red and tears of pain and anguish rolled down her cheeks as she was taught to obey without question.
Released from her bonds and wincing with pain and despair, she struggled as hard as she knew how to obey and be pleasing to the tyrannical trainers who demanded perfection, until her body grew lithe and supple, changing from one sexually provocative pose to another with the helpless, erotic grace of a true slavegirl who knew that she could, and would, be harshly punished if her performance, demeanour and submission failed to meet the demands of her Masters.
As day followed day, the frequency of her punishments reduced in direct proportion to the increase in her obedience and her gradual, unwilling acceptance of her enslavement and the last glimmering embers of Gemma's defiance glowed only fitfully as the pitiless regime of her training ground down her ability and desire to resist.
At this lowest point of Gemma's misery, when the future seemed black and hopeless, her trainers relented.
Well used to the subjugation of captive slavegirls they chose their moment perfectly and Gemma, even had she been aware of the subtle machinations of her captors, was in no condition to resist the overwhelming assault launched on her body and her senses.
"You have done well, slavegirl and have earned yourself a reward."
Kneeling, head down, her breasts heaving from the exertions of a long and strenuous training session and her buttocks smarting from repeated applications of the dreaded Devil's Palm, Gemma trembled in case the words were just a cruel hoax played on her by captors who seemed impossible to please. She had tried so hard, yet the three trainers demanded more and yet more from her, until she had wept even as she forced her body into still greater and greater efforts to meet their impossibly high standards. Her limbs ached and her buttocks stung and she longed to be allowed to rest, but knew that if she dared to disobey or even ask for a respite, the leather would sting her flesh again.
"Stand up and go across the the wall slavegirl."
Gemma forced down her aches and rose to her feet as gracefully as she could, walking over to where two of her trainers waited, only the involuntary widening of her eyes betraying her anxiety as she saw open leather cuffs dangling from short chains attached to iron rings set into the brick wall.
"Back to the wall, limbs spread," the voice was remorseless and Gemma summoned up her last remaining courage to meet whatever trail lay ahead. She could not run, could not fight, could only endure and obey and her eyes filled with hot tears as she turned and allowed her wrists to be secured in the heavy leather of the cuffs. Her ankles too, were buckled into a second pair of cuffs near the floor and she gulped nervously as the chains were shortened and her limbs spread wide into a massive spreadeagle.
Unable to move and with her naked body utterly exposed, her frightened brown eyes gazed pleadingly at her captors as they stood before her, small smiles playing about their lips as they appraised the sweet curves of her breasts and belly.
"You have earned the reward of an obedient slavegirl," the taller woman chuckled, "And now we shall make you climax as an obedient slavegirl should."
Gemma's draw dropped open and her eyes bulged as she realised that there was, quite literally, nothing she could do to prevent the woman carrying out her promise. She was chained helplessly and totally vulnerable to any of the three. Even if she screamed, no-one would hear, or care and she was well aware that she could easily be gagged if they so chose.
Gemma's belly gave a huge jerk of excitement and a strangled snort burst from her nose as the horrible, but undeniably erotic prospect of being forced to respond and climax, whether she wanted to or not, sent a hot gush of love juices down into her lewdly gaping sex.
The woman noted Gemma's instinctive reaction and chuckled again. "Randy little bitch. You're gasping for it aren't you, eh? You want it and you're going to get it. From all three of us. One at a time and then all together, until ...
"No! No, you can't! You mustn't!" Gemma's shrill squeal of protect cut the woman off, then trailed off into a terrified, appalled silence as she realised that they most certainly could!
The man nodded coldly, "Yes, we can. You are a slave and we can do anything we like. And we shall!"
Gemma gasped and licked her dry lips, "Please? she whispered, "Please, Master, I ... I can't!"
"Oh, but you can, slavegirl. Just watch."
Gemma's soft lips opened to form another protest, but before her first word could emerge, the second woman, silent up to this point, reached out her long, scarlet tipped fingers and Gemma's protest died in a hoarse scream of shock, and intense need as one hand fastened on her left breast and the other slid between the spread apart lips of her sex.
Gemma's fingers curled into claws and the taut muscles of her straddled thighs corded beneath her smooth skin as devastating waves of electrifying arousal raced through her spreadeagled frame, each firm caress of the woman's fingers bringing a panting gasp and a violent shudder from her defenceless victim as Gemma's frantic passion grew higher and hotter.