Sheri Lawson woke slowly, shivering, not from the cold but from the creepy feeling of a hand stroking the bare skin of her stomach. She was slowly getting used to this, wakening in a fog, slowly recalling her dire situation, testing her restraints to see if anything had changed. Checking to see if her blindfold had been removed, afraid of what she might see if it was.
Her muscles tensed, slowly, pulling at the wrist and ankle restraints, once more confirming she was bound and helpless. The hand brushing across her stomach was gentle as always, soft and callous free. Deceptive.
"Good morning, sleepy head. I've got another surprise for you today." The voice was sultry, feminine, with a hint of mid-western twang. All too familiar.
"Please, please, let me go," Sheri pleaded for the thousandth time.
"In good time. You know the deal. Be good. Be obedient. Be respectful. This will all be over soon if you play by my rules. If you don't, well, it'll all be over soon and I promise you, you won't like the ending." There was a steeliness to her tone that left little doubt in Sheri's mind of what the alternate ending would be.
"Yes, Mistress," Sheri said softly, cowering before the implied threat.
The hand left her belly and she trembled when it caressed her cheek, fingertips running across her lips. "Such a good girl! You are learning. Perhaps no discipline lessons will be required this morning. It would be such a disappointment to have to punish you; today's scheduled to be a fun day."
Sheri shivered involuntarily. Fun. Fun like the three days bound in restraints, spreading her limbs, stretching her far worse than the gymnastics or yoga classes she'd ground her way through in her 24 years on the planet. Fun, like learning the different types of instruments that could be used to strike her body, and having to learn each one by name and feel, thanking the Mistress for her education. Fun, like the icy cold hosing down, and stinking, stinging disinfectant she'd been bathed in. Fun, like the first two full days without sleep, while her body was subjected to a battery of insults which she learned to endure without complaint, swallowing her screams, and only moaning and crying when her spirit was thoroughly broken.
Sheri was learning to obey her captor, even anticipate her wishes. The previous day had been light compared to the earlier ones, the stinging of the welts and the ache of her joints had subsided enough to be barely noticeable. She'd like to keep it that way.
"Thank you, Mistress. I'm looking forward to your attention."
The gentle kiss on her lips was one of the most surprising things to happen to her until that moment. She'd been probed, prodded, pummeled and punished, but always in an abstract, almost asexual manner. Even during the periods when she'd had random items inserted into her most private orifices, it was less sexual, more of a humiliating intrusion. The warm kiss, with the caress of a tongue across her lips, was totally unexpected. Perhaps not totally. From the outset she'd been afraid of being used and abused sexually, but this was the first sign that her initial fears might be coming true.
She felt the cold steel of the collar snapped back in place, assuring her good behavior. Never again did she want to feel the agony that simple piece of metal could deliver. She would be docile. She would be obedient. She would not, under any circumstances, anger the Mistress.
The wrist and ankle restraints were detached from her bed and she quickly turned and sat up, sliding off the padded surface and standing ready. The Mistress was strangely kind, guiding her across the cold tile floor by touch, instead of dragging her by the collar and letting her run blindly into the hard pieces of furniture scattered about the room. Furniture she was learning to abhor.
Five days of blindness had heightened her senses. She could hear the dripping in the toilet area, the quiet footfalls of her Mistress behind her. The coolness of the linoleum under her feet. The smell of wood, of leather and of blood.
Sheri was guided to the 'bathroom' area and allowed to use the toilet. She still felt awkward and unbalanced using the pot in the dark, but her blindfold was always present and absolute. In some ways she appreciated the blindfold, convincing herself that so long as she never saw her captor's face, perhaps she would be eventually freed.
"I think you could use a thorough cleansing, child," the Mistress told her.
Sheri braced herself for the sudden jet of ice water. "Thank you, Mistress," she intoned, bowing her head.
"I want you to close your eyes tightly. I'll be removing your mask for a moment."
"Yes, Mistress. I won't open them."
The cruel chuckle sounded ominous. "I'm sure you won't if you ever hope to see daylight again. I so prefer the mask. With drugs, there's always the chance that your sight won't come back, and of course the agony of blinding makes the slave useless for days."
The mask was unbuckled from behind her head, and she felt the stickiness of the adhesive stretch as the material was pulled away. Secondary patches over each eye were slowly peeled back, then pulled off rapidly, like a band aid. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment before she squeezed them shut. The room was nearly dark, and she saw nothing but the bare concrete wall in front of her during that brief time.
Sheri felt a cool cloth rub around her eyes and temple, removing any last remnants of the adhesive. Then a new, cool blindfold was placed over her eyes, this one less padded and slick to the touch. "It's temporary, for your cleaning."
"Thank you, Mistress," Sheri replied, truly grateful. The old eye-mask had been irritating. Her sweat and tears had caked on the inside and made it rough to the touch.
Another pleasant surprise came when her ever-present wrist and ankle restraints were removed, as was that most evil of devices, the collar of pain. She rubbed her wrists where the leather bracelets had chafed her.
Sheri felt warm water cascade over her skin, and she breathed an involuntary groan of delight.
"Stay still now dear, while Mistress takes care of you. Stretch your arms out in front of you and lean forward against the wall."
Sheri felt a large rough sponge, probably natural, rub against her skin. She could feel the slippery soap spread across her body; the smell was settling and calming. She stood still, her hands on the wall, her legs spread a little more than shoulder width wide. She found herself enjoying the roughness of the sponge and the warmth of the water sluicing off the soap and sweat. The Mistress scrubbed everywhere, lifting her feet to get at the soles. The sponge made its way between her legs, under her arms and across her breasts. When it rubbed her privates she tensed a bit, but those areas were treated much like the rest, thoroughly cleaned, but no more.
She was surprised at herself. The first couple of days she had argued, cursed, begged and pleaded. Her mind had run wild with the evils that would be perpetrated against her. Images of endless men using her, fucking her in teams, unable to stop them, helpless to resist. She schemed of ways to escape, and wreaking her revenge on the evil creature who held her captive. During the last couple of days many of those thoughts had retreated to the background, and she looked for ways to survive another day of pain and discomfort, dreading what she'd be subjected to next. The pain had become manageable, the discomfort something to be endured for hours on end, the brief respites to be cherished. Moments such as these, under the warm embrace of the shower, were a gift. Don't think about what may come next. Don't dwell on what had passed. Accept what was happening and endure. And don't anger the Mistress.
Never anger the Mistress.
Her long hair was grasped in the Mistress's hands, and she inhaled the floral scent of the shampoo, calming to the achingly familiar sound of the liquid being squirted out of the bottle. Fingers massaged her scalp, and thoroughly scrubbed her golden brown tresses. She had been afraid that her jailor would cut her hair, when it interfered with her punishment, but the Mistress seemed to like it the way it was, and even brushed it several times during her captivity. Her locks were rinsed for a long time, until she could hear the squeaky telltale that all traces of shampoo were gone.
The cascade of water ended, and a soft towel was used on her, drying her quickly. The towel was left across her shoulders, the only piece of material to cover her body in the last 5 days. She pulled it close and enjoyed the momentary normality.
Her hand was grasped, and something put in it. "Brush your hair now, and be thorough."
Sheri obeyed, fighting to pull the brush through new tangles, tearing at it in a few places, but after several minutes she was able to pull the brush through without trouble. She continued the brushing, reveling in the familiarity of the simple motion, happy to delay as long as possible whatever was in store for her.
"Hair is such a bother, isn't it?" the Mistress said. "That's part of your surprise for today."
Sheri trembled at the insinuation. Perhaps this was yet another tease. Would she end the morning bald? One more vicious, pointless punishment performed on her. She wasn't sure if she was meant to answer or not, so she stayed quiet, having found that being told to answer brought about far less punishment than speaking out of turn.
Sheri felt her ankle restraints reattached, and flirted with the idea of kicking out and fighting back. For once, the collar was off and she was free of all restraints. Could she do it? Did she dare?
.... There is more of this story ...