Chapter 2

Tiffany found herself exhausted, to the point of semi- consciousness, her eyes closed, her head hanging. At least, now, she had a moment to think. Her own father had watched as Tiffany, suspended from the ceiling of the basement, had been tortured by a strange man in a police uniform, assisted by her own mother, who sucked Tiffany’s clitoris until countless orgasms reduced Tiffany to mindlessness!

She took stock of her situation. Her legs were still widespread, tied to ceiling joists, and her arms were tied to hold her body upright. He breasts ached, felt as if they would explode, still compressed by rubber bindings, but the painful clamps on her vulva had been released. She could feel the vibrating egg inside her, the cord and battery box still hanging from her anus, but the vibrator had been turned off. Tiffany opened her eyes, turned her head, and saw her father was still tied to a post, having been forced to watch her utter degradation.

She looked for her mother, and saw her standing behind another column. Her mother’s bound breasts protruded, either side of the post, and the nipples were joined by a chain, so that the woman could not move away from it. A similar chain went around the column lower down; Tiffany supposed it connected her mother’s labia in a similar manner. Her mother’s arms were behind her back.

The “policeman” entered the room. The man released the rubber which bound Tiffany’s breasts, and she felt the strange sensation of circulation returning to them, as they returned to their more normal shape. With a steady pull on the cord of the vibrator, he tried to remove the silver egg from Tiffany’s anus.

She tried to help, straining, as if on the toilet, and the egg slid out. From behind her, he reached around and kneaded her ample breasts. There was nothing she could do to resist, hanging from the joists, and she wondered what her mother and father, still watching, were thinking.

“Thirsty?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“That’s yes, Master.”

“Yes, Master.”

The man grabbed her hair, pulled her head back and poured a warm beer into her mouth, followed by a second can.

Then the man did a strange thing. He placed one finger in her vulva and snapped the fingers of the other hand. Instantly, Tiffany felt a tingle, and she realized she was secreting the fluids which lubricate the sex act. The man removed his dampened finger and remarked, “Yes, we are beginning to establish a conditioned reflex.”

Tiffany realized with horror that she was just like one of Pavlov’s dogs, who were conditioned to salivate when they heard a bell. Only she was conditioned to feel sexy when she heard fingers snap. She was losing control of her own body!

The “policeman” went to her father and locked a collar around his neck, with a chain leash attached. Then he untied him from the post. He handcuffed him and led the dejected man across the room, hooking the chain with enough slack that the father could sit down. “Can’t have him tied up like that all night,” he said, almost apologetically. “He might have a heart attack or something. The poor sod; what some people will do for money.”

He removed the chain from the mother’s breasts, and the hooks from her cunt, so she could move away from the post. Then he unbound the mother’s breasts. Straining to turn her head and watch, Tiffany noted the red marks of the bindings persisting on her mother’s tortured breasts. Well, it would only be a matter of time before he let Tiffany go. She looked at her father. He was staring at her gaping crotch.

Her mother used the bathroom, and got a drink of water.

Then she returned to the room, looking stronger than she had.

She was obviously an obedient slave. Meanwhile, the man pushed the ping-pong table so it was under Tiffany. “Hands look as if they are turning blue,” he remarked, as he unhooked her hands and lowered her so that her shoulders rested on the table, supporting some of her weight, while her butt was still a few inches above the surface.

“Slave One,” the man said, “you remember what happened to your pubic hair?”

“Yes, Master.”

He handed the mother a pair of pliers. “I want Slave Two hairless.” He handed her a glass jar.

To Tiffany’s horror, her mother obediently approached her, standing between Tiffany’s taut, outstretched legs. The mother placed the pointy ends of the pliers around one of Tiffany’s curly pubic hairs and pulled. Tiffany could see the hair straighten, the follicle bulge, and then it popped out. The mother dropped it in the jar.

The pain of having a single hair pulled out is not so severe it cannot be withstood. The pain of having thousands pulled out, one every few seconds, for hours, is most unpleasant. Tiffany could not help complaining, crying out in frustration, but her mother was methodical, rhythmical. Grasp. Pull. Pop. Drop. Her father watched; God knows what he was thinking. The man watched, seeming to enjoy watching a mother denuding her daughter more than if he had done it himself. To add to her discomfort, Tiffany’s bladder filled, and after hours of painfully trying to hold it in, she peed on her mother.

“I’m sorry,” Tiffany said.

“I’m sorry you had to do that. I’ll try to hurry.”

“How did you let this man make a slave of you, Mother?”

Tiffany winced, as a hair was plucked from the very center of her vulva.

“He owns the company where your father works. He made us an offer, and, with your dad needing work, and the bills piling up, it was hard to refuse. Your father didn’t want to let me, but we talked it over. The pay is good.”

“The man must be crazy,” Tiffany said, softly, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

“No. Sexually abusing slaves is nothing new. All down through history, people in power have tortured others, from Catherine the Great to Idi Amin. Who knows what J.F.K. did with that Exner woman,” said her mother. “He’s not crazy. He’s always in control, never does any permanent damage.” Tiffany noted that her mother’s tortured breasts looked almost normal, the red marks having faded over the hours.

At last, the jar was full of curly hairs, and Tiffany’s crotch was as hairless as a newborn’s. The stranger came over to examine it, running his fingers over the tender skin, feeling to see that not a hair remained, even up by her anus. He capped the jar.

“I have quite a collection,” he said to Tiffany.

Though Tiffany’s wrists were still bound together, she was able to reach down and finger her newly naked vulva. Strange.

So sensitive to touch. He father still stared at her, expressionless. He had wet his pants. Her mother stood obediently, waiting for orders from her master.

The master selected a penis shaped battery powered vibrator, with a little brush of rubber bristles around the base, to tickle a naked vulva. He also selected a rubber bulb, as on a blood pressure cuff, with a hose and a balloon on the end. With one finger, he put some lubricant on Tiffany’s anus and forced the hose and balloon through. He snapped his fingers, and the vibrator slid right into her vaginal sheath, no extra lubricant required.

He inserted a rather larger vibrator, which had straps attached, into Tiffany’s mother. She stood, passively, as he fastened the straps, so it could not possibly slip out. He used a plastic tie to fasten the mother’s thumbs together, behind her back, so she couldn’t touch the vibrator.