Seven for a Secret
Chapter 1

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, NonConsensual, Slavery, BiSexual, BDSM, DomSub, FemaleDom, Spanking, Humiliation,

Desc: BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1 - How do you break a strong willed young woman..??

The last girl had been good, but just like all the others, after a while the novelty had worn off. There is something about a girl accustomed to servitude, hardened to service, resigned to suffering, that spoils my enjoyment.

Time to find a new slave, another unsuspecting plaything. Life is good!

Situations Vacant

Due to promotion, a vacancy has arisen for a full time personal assistant, applicants must be ready to start immediately, no experience necessary as full training will be given. This is a full time, live-in post, so those with other commitments need not apply. Applicants should be physically fit and healthy.

Interviews for those interested in this position will be held on [date] between noon and 6pm at the [hotel] Suite 101. Applicants should inform hotel reception of their presence.

Part of the initial thrill is in not knowing who will apply. Of course none of them will see me, why risk identification? So much better to remain anonymous until I make my selection. A small adjoining room, a video link a chair, well lit, is all it takes. Reception give them a key-card, the sign besides the camera explains the need for a video link. How are they to know I am in fact next door?

The first three were of no interest, the fourth, a possibility, sent down to wait in reception until 6pm. Only 45 minutes to go, perhaps another advert? Maybe the brunette will do, yet something about her is just not right. Movement on the screen catches my attention, and this time the girl looks perfect...

I enter the hotel lobby just after 5 pm, still unsure whether I want to apply for a job or not. I am not good at jobs. Well, that's not exactly right, most jobs I've done so far I have done quite well. I just have a habit of fucking up with my employers and usually get fired after a few weeks or months.

I have been a personal assistant to a photographer, have modelled panties (yes, my ass is one of my best parts), been a hostess and had done several other things. My last job had brought me to this hotel quite often. And I would still have it hadn't it been for the very unfortunate fact that one of my clients had croaked while I was sitting on top of him. Stupid bloke. After that, no other escort service wanted to hire me anymore. Too bad, the work had been easy and the pay had been exceptionally good and if I hadn't spent it all on parties and clothes and the occasional line of coke I wouldn't have had to look for a job yet.

So, yeah, I was on a streak of bad luck. I needed money and I didn't mind living in with some old frail lady. It had to be an old lady, who else would be looking for a full time assistant? I figured that with a little bit of luck and all my charm I could sneak my way into her last will. I can be quite nice, flattering and charming. If I want to, that is. And if I think it pays off eventually.

I walk up to the reception and tell the concierge what I had come for. She sent me to a room on the 9th floor and says I should just go in without knocking and three minutes later I looked not at a frail old lady but at a tripod with a camera, a note and a chair in front of the camera.

'What the heck', I say to myself, thinking that this is probably not a frail old lady after all. I turn on my heels to leave again, but then curiosity gets the better of me and I sit down on the chair, without bothering to read the note. I put on a nice smile and look into the camera.

Yes indeed, this girl is the one. Just the right amount of attitude. Much more enjoyable to break a strong character, dominate them utterly, such a juicy challenge, picking a meek little thing like the first girl today is hardly worth the effort, even if the outcome is the same.

I watch as the girl hesitates, then sits on the chair. Experience has taught me to read those expressions that flash across her face before the artificial smile spreads like fake butter, never quite reaching her eyes.

As I play the first question pre-recorded on my ipod, I re-run those expressions in my mind. Obviously sexually experienced, as backed up by her choice of wardrobe and demeanour, was recently earning good money, judging by the clothes and manicure, obviously no longer doing so or why would she be here?

As the girl answers each question I activate the ipod to play the next, almost without thinking. Having the questions recorded allows me to concentrate on the answers, the microphone will catch every word and I can watch and listen to her interview later. The answers, especially the early ones are of little interest, indeed they are mostly irrelevant to my purpose. What interests me is the way the questions are answered, body language, a slight hesitation, all speak volumes. As the questions progress beyond those banal ones asked by every interviewer, I look for the change in her attitude, noting her response to the more unusual questions.

Do you suffer from claustrophobia? Which if any allergies do you suffer from? What form of birth control do you use? Do you have any medical conditions and/or known reactions to drugs? Where are you headed after this interview? What languages are you fluent in? Can you swim? Do you like animals? Do you get air/sea/car sick? Do you have first aid training? Can you drive?

As expected, the girl is starting to realise that not all of the questions are relevant to the advertised job. So before she has a chance to think it all through, a distraction. I skipped through the tracks to the one I wanted.

"The starting salary is € 2,000 a month. Of course room and board is provided, as are certain required outfits both casual and formal."

As usual the mention of money caused a flash of avarice, quickly and consciously hidden under the pseudo smile. Once again what interested me was not her obvious response, but her attitude and demeanour. This girl had herself under control. My mind made up, I moved on to the next stage.

"That concludes the question part of the interview, you may now take a short comfort break before we resume and give you a chance to ask any questions you have. You will find the bathroom through the door to your left, and a selection of drinks in the cupboard behind you."

As the girl rose from her chair I watched with interest. The camera position was chosen with care, allowing a clear view of the entire room thanks to the mirror opposite. The room thermostat had been carefully set to ensure that by now the girl would be warm and thirsty enough to guarantee she chose a drink. Which one did not matter, all were spiked with a tried and tested formula.

I watched as she moved about the room, selected a drink, smiled at her careful, precise manner, trying to impress the camera even as she resumed her seat and sipped, the ice tinkling in the fine crystal glass. It would not be long before the glass slipped from her fingers...

A large aluminium 'flight case' marked 'Fragile' - 'Heavy' is both perfect to move an unconscious body and instantly forgettable to the staff of a major hotel, used to seeing them used by every conference and event. A generous but not exceptional tip to the bell-hop and the case was whisked away to the hotel loading bay where it was transferred, along with my suitcase, to the waiting van. Whilst I checked out and expressed sadness at the poor quality of the applicants. A little insurance just in case someone asked about my latest plaything. The unmarked van was waiting for me out front, the evening traffic light as we sped out of the city and headed home. Our unconscious passenger safely ensconced in the custom padded case.

Once well outside the city, a quick stop to check on my new plaything, air circulation system working perfectly, restraints in place and secure, she will be conscious before we reach our destination still two hours away.

Upon arrival it is a simple matter to roll the case down the van's built in ramp and wheel it through the garage and several sets of security doors into the dungeon. Only then was the lip popped open, revealing the girl's back as she knelt, strapped securely. First the blindfold, then the wrist cuffs, snap-linked close together, only then are the restraining straps released and the front of the case hinged down to allow easy access.

"Welcome to your new job..."

The interview starts with the usual questions about name, what I have done so far, experience, why I'm applying for the job and so on. Easy to answer, although I take the liberty to give the woman a slightly different name, because my real name plus my picture had been all over the tabloids following the croaked guy-incident. So it's Jamie Sumners, but she doesn't seem to be interested in my identity, judging from the fact that she doesn't want my ID.

It's all quite weird anyway, I have the impression I'm talking not to a person but to a recording. Just when I think I'll fall asleep of boredom having to answer all those questions the nature of them changes. The voice wants to know about contraceptives, claustrophobia, allergies, where I'm heading after this interview, whether I can swim, which languages do I speak and much more. I try not to sound too irritated as I answer them one by one with 'pill, no, none, to the pub for a vodka, yes, German and a bit of French' respectively, starting to wonder whether this interview is really about a full time assistant. It reminds me of a scene in a spy movie I've recently seen, but then again, nobody in their right frame of mind would hire me as a secret agent. I certainly wouldn't.

Then the voice mentions the salary and I silently curse the croaked idiot again. 2000 Euros ... I've earned that much in two weeks as an escort. But with room and board provided it ain't that bad.

Just when I start thinking that I'll be out of here soon if I don't get to ask my questions - not to mention to see the person behind the camera before I sign any contract or commit myself to a job - the woman announces a break. I'm glad, it's hot in here and I could do with a drink. A minute later I sit down on the chair again and take a sip of tonic water.

"Enjoy your drink and then please start asking your questions," says the voice, but somehow it sounds strange. The room looks strange too, it begins to turn and I feel suddenly dizzy. The glass falls from my hand as I slip from the chair, thinking that hopefully the woman sees what's happening and sends hotel security up to check on me.

But when I come to there's no hotel security. In fact there's no one. Just darkness, motion, the sound of a car, a terrible headache and sickness. For a moment I fight the urge to puke, but then it passes and I start trying to figure out what happened and where I am. I'm on my knees, that much I know. My hands and feet are restrained. Bad, very bad. I lift my head and bang it against something metallic. To the left and the right there's the same metal. A box. I'm in a box, in a car, driving to God knows where. Nobody knows that I went to that job interview and I have died my natural blonde hair a dark chestnut a couple of days ago, so nobody would recognize my picture in the hotel anyway.

Fuckin' A.

The car stops, the crate is moved, I hear doors being opened and closed again and then the lid is opened. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?," I snap, trying to turn my head to see the person. But I'm quickly blindfolded and cuffed. That, of course, can't stop me from swearing and cursing.

"Welcome to your new job," a woman, apparently the same who conducted the interview, finally says.

"Yeah, fuck you too, you bloody bitch! Let me go now!" I snarl.

"Or what?" she asks, chuckling.

Yeah, she's got a point there. What if she doesn't let me go?

"Yeah, fuck you too, you bloody bitch! Let me go now!" Just a hint of a slur beneath the vehemence. Better and better, I love a challenge and this girl has just the spirit to hold my interest. Traditionally at this point a forceful blow would send her reeling, nothing so crass here.

My reply, delivered in calm, measured tones, is just as effective, to her mind, if not her body, "Or what?" I allow myself a soft chuckle, a reward for correctly guessing her response, the pause as she realises the truth behind that simple question followed by the tensing of her body, half in anticipation of a blow, half poised for flight. Neither is forthcoming.

There are many ways to handle the next few hours, I like to think that my method, refined from long experience, achieves everything required. No rough man-handling, why damage my new plaything so soon? A snap-link secures the overhead chain to the one linking her cuffs, gentle pressure on the radio remote and her arms are drawn relentlessly upwards, at some point her body is bound to follow. The low electric whirr drowned out by an impressive selection of curses, threats, even a few pleas. Only when she is standing, bent forward, arms drawn up, shoulders straining, only then do I stop the winch.

Now is not the time to bandy words with my plaything, besides, I did not go to all this trouble for a conversation. I have no interest in anything she might say for now, but no gag, for though her words are of no interest, her mental state is, her voice provides a view into that complex intriguing world.

The winch is suspended on an overhead track, designed to handle much heaver weights, it provides a simple way to control even the most violent victims. As the winch moves along the track, the girl follows, a little unsteady at first, the residue of the 'knockout' drops combined with an utterly pointless attempt at defiance.

The winch clicks as it runs over the joints where the different tracks branch off. Almost the length of the dungeon, to the waiting cell. Solid back and side walls, the front formed from the customary bars. Once inside it is a simple matter to close and lock the door, reverse the travel on the winch to bring the girls wrists within reach, release the snap link and remove the winch chain from the cell.

"When you have stripped naked and pushed all your clothes and shoes through the bars, you will be given food and water." Turning, I walked across the dungeon to the door, closing and locking it behind me before switching off all the lights, save for the floodlights that washed the cell with bright hard light.

Entering my study I flipped on the monitor, the large screen showing the cell, the volume turned up just enough to hear single sob. Settling down with a freshly made pot of tea, I stretched and relaxed into the leather recliner and observed my new plaything. How long would it take... ?

Strip naked ... Well, well, well, just my luck to go to a job interview with the one fucked up dyke in the world who would abduct a girl. I look around the cell. It's not the first I've seen from the inside, but the first with bars and floodlights and possibly a camera too. Yeah, there it is. Nice. And so predictable. No toilet, though. Not even a cot to lie down.

Sparta meets Lesbos, eh?

I'm neither hungry nor thirsty and the headache is getting better every minute. On the way to the cell I realized that resistance is quite futile, the bitch seems to be well prepared to hold someone captive. Not good. Not good at all.

But still, all in all I feel quite fine. Hey, considering the fact that I've just been abducted by some psycho bitch I'm feeling really good. I mean, what could a woman do to me? Rape me? Hahaha. Ok, she could also kill me, but she could have done that while I was still in the crate. Nah, I got a feeling this is some sex thing. Ok, fine, I'm quite used to sex things.

I bet she's right now watching me on a screen, waiting for me to break down and beg and cry and sob. Well, guess what? I won't do either. She might dictate the game and set the pace, but I can at least try to spoil her fun. And I'll start right now to spoil her fun.

Strip naked? What a joke. I've stripped naked in front of more people than she can imagine. Modesty has never been my strong suit and my body is nothing I am ashamed of. A minute later my clothes are lying on the floor outside of the cell and I'm mooning the camera, making sure to wiggle my ass.

Then I turn around and look at it directly. "Hey honeybunny, bring a pint of lager to go with my dinner, willya?"

"Hey honeybunny, bring a pint of lager to go with my dinner, willya?" And such a perfect ass. I smiled at the cheeky self confidence. Crossing to the switch panel besides the screen, I watched the monitor as the cell's sprinkler system activated. The cell was designed as a 'wet room' for many reasons, this is just one of them. Icy water has a way of breaking down bravado rather effectively.

Now to keep my word. Pressing the intercom I issued the awaited order, "you may feed my plaything." A brief pause and I watched as the hidden panel swung out, the stainless steel 'dog bowls' now accessible, but not removable. The interview questions had covered both food allergies and dislikes as well as favourites. The first bowl contained the girl's favourite meal, perfectly prepared, then liquidised, the second held drinking water, as if there was not already enough drenching the cell already.

Pausing to finish my tea, why rush? My plaything is hardly going anywhere, the icy water works best if left a while anyway. A leisurely stroll back to the dungeon, opening the door silently, closing and locking it behind me before softly moving closer to the cell, knowing that the angle of the floodlights hid me from view. Pausing to watch the now shivering girl, waiting for the right moment to reveal myself.

Stepping forward I spoke, "Did you enjoy your meal?" I paused, ignoring the girl's retort, "back to the door, hands together and held out of the slot." I waited, ignoring her antics, after a while she complied, I stepped forward and re-attached the padded cuffs, locking them before stepping aside to shut off the sprinklers. A few well practised moves and the winch cable was once again raising her hands up behind her back, forcing her to bend forward to relieve the strain on her shoulders. Without any stupidity she stepped forward to allow the cell door to be opened, then turned and walked, stooped forward as the winch slide along the track, headed for the semi-padded area.

Stopping at the desired point, the first task was to attach the ankle cuffs, a quick flourish of the cattle-prod to deter any foolish kicking. Once both ankle cuffs were fitted and locked it just remained to use their short chains and snap links to attach them to rings set into the stone floor. A little stack on the chain, next a spreader bar attached by wide velcro straps just below each knee. Another flourish of the cattle prod. "Kneel." More slack on the chain. "Lay down, face on the mat." Careful control of the winch, and a stiletto heeled boot pressing firmly between her shoulder blades, her arms drawn higher and higher until she cried out. A swift check, perfect.

"You have a choice, 'honey-bunny', you may spend the night on your knees, and rest your shoulders, or lay down to rest your knees and bear the strain on your shoulders." I knew that kneeling on the stone floor for hours would make resting her body on the padded mat so very attractive, even if it felt like her shoulders were about to be torn off. Any attempt to somehow move the mat would be fruitless, as the heavy mat was well secured to the floor.

Locking the dungeon door behind me I glanced at the thermostat to ensure that the dungeon would remain at a comfortable, if rather cool temperature. I flicked off the lights, leaving my plaything alone in the darkness. For her, it would be a long night, a very long night.

Ok, maybe there's worse things than being raped. I'm about ready to acknowledge that fact when I hear the door behind me and feel rather than hear the bitch enter the room. I'm between kneeling and lying phases, my head and tits on the mat, ass raised high, dreading the moment my knees will hurt so much I can't stand the pain anymore and have to lie down, only to feel the terrible pain in my shoulders. That moment isn't far away anymore. As a matter of fact I am almost constantly shifting positions by now, trying to find relief from the pain, but at the same time knowing that there will be pain anyway, no matter what I do.

In the beginning it had been easy, I just knelt and tried to think about pleasant things to take my mind off my situation and the uncomfortable position. Uncomfortable not only because my arms were turned up behind my back painfully even when I knelt. I was also very aware of the fact that with that bar attached to my knees my legs were spread wide and my private parts were fully exposed. Plus it was cold, the fucking cold shower had left me shivering and shaking by the time it had stopped and the bitch had taken me out of the cell again. Oh, and let's not forget that I'm not exactly the kneeling kind of girl. I'm not used to kneel. Wimps kneel. Wimps and doormats. I'm neither.

It didn't remain easy, though. My knees began to hurt after a while and eventually I started to shift my weight from one knee to the other. That helped, but not for very long. In the end when I couldn't take the pain in my knees anymore I carefully lowered my head and chest, trying in vain to keep from crashing to the ground and popping the arms right out of their sockets. I fell and crashed and I screamed. But the arms didn't pop.

After a minute the pain in my shoulders receded enough so I could try and find the least painful position although it was pretty obvious that every position would be painful. I shifted my body a bit on the mat. Now I was half on my knees, my ass raised, my legs spread wide, fully exposed, the perfect position to be doggy fucked. But at least that wasn't too bad, except for the fact that now I had strain on both my knees and my shoulders. Soon enough the pain in the knees got too much again and I had to lie flat on my stomach to give them some rest. Of course that pulled my arms up even more and I let out a scream again.

It hadn't been the last time I screamed. I had no feeling for the time, but I think I changed positions faster and faster during the next hours, every change brought more pain and screams with it. In the end it didn't matter too much anymore whether I kneeled, laid down on my belly or a mixture of both.

At one time some hours ago there has been a peeing problem. The problem was solved, eventually, although not in a satisfactory manner. At least it isn't more painful to kneel in my own pee than it is anyway.

And now I'm dizzy with the pain and everything is kinda blurred as I feel her standing behind me. I can also feel her staring at me and although I'm not a modest person at all I cannot help but feel exposed and vulnerable. After all, I'm spread wide open, probably showing pink.

But if she thinks I'm going to beg for relief she's wrong. After a minute of dead silence, only broken by my laboured breathing, I finally make up my mind whether I should say anything at all or just remain silent.

"Good morning, gorgeous, I hope you had as sweet dreams as I had." Too bad there's not much confidence in my voice. It's not easy to sound confident and self assured when you're talking through gritted teeth. At least the dripping sarcasm comes through clearly.

"Good morning, gorgeous, I hope you had as sweet dreams as I had." What a perfect way to start a new day. The words themselves, the sarcasm, all will be paid for later, all are irrelevant. It is the spirit behind those words that make them so welcome. I know that the girl has been in constant pain, the way she spoke, teeth gritted, the obvious pause whilst she chose her retort, all speak volumes for her strength of character.

The high definition cameras and big screen monitors do not do this girl justice. The girl's laboured breathing causing her firm, perfectly formed breasts to rise and fall, drawing the eye to those delightful nipples, perhaps the coolness of the room explains their hardness, or could it be her exposed position, vulnerable, open, almost begging to be impaled? She really does have the most perfect ass.!!

Now to business, no words, just a flourish of the cattle prod to remind her to behave. First her cuffs are released from the winch cable, their links separated, allowing her arms to drop to her sides. Ignoring the obvious mixture of relief I refasten her cuffs together in front, reattach the winch cable and then attend to the spreader bar, the wide velcro makes removal easy, even whilst my plaything is kneeling. A slight reddening remains to show where they were wrapped. Lastly the ankle cuffs, released from the floor rings, now linked by a short chain, allowing my plaything to walk, but only with an abbreviated stride.

I raise the winch, drawing her arms up in front of her, higher and higher, until she is forced to stand, I stop the winch when her hands are at head height, then start it along the track. Her legs unused to such a short stride, knees aching from kneeling, arms and shoulders aching, she follows, unsteadily, using the winch cable as support. Back to the cell.

Once at the cell, the soon to be familiar routine, step inside, pause whilst the door shuts, step back, hands through the slot, winch chain released. As a large part of the rear wall slides away, revealing a shower stall, complete with power shower, next to it a toilet, to the right a washbasin, no mirror, but a small shelf holding basic toiletries. All fully open to the cell, and the dungeon, no privacy for my plaything.

On cue, the side panel opened, swinging out to reveal the two 'dog bowls'. "You have ten minutes to wash, then the water will be turned off, enjoy your breakfast... 'Gorgeous'..."

I'm beginning to get really annoyed with that electrical thingy. No need to wave it in front of me all the time, I'm not dumb enough to try something stupid. Not as long as I'm still chained, that is. But the annoyance is quickly forgotten when the pain shoots through me as my arms are finally released. I had thought they were hurting, but now, with the blood rushing back and the joints rearranging themselves in their natural position I almost scream out loud. But only almost. Instead I bite my lower lip until I the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and quickly blink away some tears.

Nobody says anything while she unlocks and locks all the cuffs and chains until I'm standing upright, my hands tied in front of me, again attached to the hated winch. I have nothing to say and she obviously isn't interested in my opinion. And as much as I would like to call her names, I'm afraid I'd regret them sooner or later. Plus I'm too tired and exhausted to waste my energy on words.

My whole body aches and I have difficulties walking while she leads me back to the cell. Then there's the same routine as yesterday, only in reversed order and I'm standing in the cell again. Naked, aching and exhausted. It takes all the energy I can muster to hold my head up but I won't give the bitch the satisfaction of seeing me standing here with my head hung low. I face away from her, not wanting to see her, although for a freakin' dyke she doesn't look too bad. Then the back wall slides back and reveals a bathroom just as the panel on the side opens with the bowls containing breakfast. Pulp and water. Yuck!

No coffee. Darn! I'll go through a serious headache today because of caffeine deprivation.

"You have ten minutes to wash, then the water will be turned off, enjoy your breakfast... 'gorgeous'..." A very innovative young lady we have here ... not even smart enough to think of a new pet name to call me. "It's Miss Sumners to you," I say without looking at her as I step forward to take a shower and wash the cold sweat off my body. No need to waste an opportunity to get clean. I'm not surprised to find out that there's no hot water.

We look at each other as I sit down on the toilet to take a leak and for a while it's like playing that game when you look someone in their eyes and the first to avert them or start laughing loses. Neither of us looks away and the situation's certainly not funny so I think it's a tie game. She only smiles when she sees me looking in vain for toilet paper. Then she turns around and closes the door behind her, leaving me to eat breakfast.

Yesterday the pulp's consistency was thick enough to eat it with my fingers like they do in many places over the world, but today it's liquid and if I don't want to go hungry I'll have to eat it out of the bowl.

I think I'll go hungry. I'm not ready to eat like a dog. Not yet, anyway.

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