Camp Treve Copyright (c) 1997 and 1998 by SarOfTreve@aol.com Notice: The following work of fiction is Copyright (c) 1998, Sartan of Treve, and may not be reproduced in part or whole without the owner's permission.
Part I My footsteps, loud in the hard-soled jump boots, echo the barren halls of Camp Treve. In metered stride, I make final rounds, ensuring that all is ready. Every camera and microphone well concealed. Each room immaculately clean, not the slightest trace of dirt or blood. I check each device in turn, most of them activated by the large remote I carry. Some would term Camp Treve a depressing buildingĄ all stone and flat black steel. I find it beautiful. The Camp stands unadorned, function expressed with the barest simplicity. Yet beneath its Spartan exterior, Camp Treve offers every amenity one could ask for the task it addresses. I buzz open the door to my private quarters, and pass through. The door whisks shut after me. Beyond, my outer chamber is bathed in the lights of the Camp's electronic heartĄ video monitors, amplifiers, control panels, recording decks. I cycle one monitor through all of the cameras, assuring their function and position. It feels good to return to this place I call home. To knock the mothballs from her, fire up the big diesel generator and bring her back to life. Faintly, the pain-laden screams of last year's class echo the halls, at least in my mind. The new class will arrive in the morning, along with supplies for the next ninety days or so. Before retiring I activate the heater embedded in the roof, which, by morning, will clear the snow and ice for the Huey's landing. I settle in for the first night of year three, and Camp Treve is silent around me. I watch the monitor intently, for the Class of 98 is starting to stir. The first day is most crucial, I have determinedĄ there is much to be learned, by myself and my charges. Their nine naked bodies have lain still since arriving this morning, splayed about the main holding area. After the helicopter landed, they and the foodstores were loaded into the lift and brought down from the cold. One by one, I removed their orange transport jumpers, admiring their firm, sensual bodies. Using a grease pencil, I numbered them, 1 through 9. Carried each from the main chamber to the holding area. Then, I waited for the drug to wear off. As I watch each wake in turn, confused, I smile. My sponsors have done a wonderful job selecting my charges. Each is a rare beauty. This may be the finest class to date. The large-breasted redhead, number 3, is the first to shake off the drug. She stands and looks about. Takes in her nudity, the others around her. Walks about the cell. I like the way she struts. Like a beast, sex made flesh. She stands by the barred entry, staring out at more bare stone walls. Slowly, several others join her. They speak to each other, and the microphones covey every word to me. 'Where are we.' 'How the fuck should I know, bitch?' 'I'm Lara.' 'Where are my fucking clothes?' 'What's your name?' 'Fuck you.' It comes to me as a steady stream of banter, and I find it difficult to tie words to the speaker. It is not important. This class will eventually shake out, set to the business of determining a hierarchy. I wait, but not for long. They moved back towards the center of the cell, and several slide into a seated position along the walls. An argument breaks out among four of the women, standing, and they scuffle. The redhead and one of the brunettes quickly come out victorious. I carefully note the internal power structure that emerges within the class over the next hour or so. Finally, one remarks on the numbers. 'You have something on your hip.' The redhead, to whom the comment was directed, looks down at herself, examining, the '3' carefully stenciled on her pearly skin. 'Hey, I have one too,' exclaims number 5. One by one, they wet their fingers with spit and wipe the numbers off. I grin broadly. That has never failed. It is time. I put on the headset, positioning the microphone before my lips. Shunt the room audio into the little headset speakers. Turn on the broadcast system in the holding area. 'Stand to the rear of the cell.' They start as my booming, authoritative voice fills the room. Most begin to move as directed, used to the obeyance of orders, but the three that have emerged as leaders stay where they are. 'Where the fuck are we?,' one shouts. I repeat my order, but these three continue to disobey. The rest have moved to the rear wall, but they too must pay. I flip a switch and spin up a large dial. I smile with amusement as all nine women begin to scream, and hop from foot to foot. I have powered up a contact grid on the floor, sending a strong shock into their feet. I watch, beaming, as they try to climb the wall, each other, anything to escape the biting pain. Their shrieks fill my ears. One falls to the floor, and lets out an unearthly wail as two others climb atop her, pinning her against the conducive strips. Finally, the last straggler hops her way to the back wall. I shut off power to the floor, and they sag against cool stone wall. Lesson one learned. 'Number 1. Move to the door.' A moment passes, and no one moves. I send a brief jolt to the floor, and repeat myself. Quickly, timidly, a dishwater blonde steps away from the wall and walks to the bars. At the push of a button, the door slides silently open. 'Number 1. There is a blue line on the floor. Follow it to its end.' She steps to comply, and the door clangs shut behind her. I switch from camera to camera, following her progress down the hall into the main chamber. She stops at the end of the line. I see her glance about, taking in her surroundings. Gray stone walls, broken here and there by entryways barred or open. The low ceiling. Lines of several colors on the floor departing the room in various places. A row of open steel bands lining one wall, protruding from metal boxes about five feet from the floor. I switch the microphone to the speakers in the main chamber. 'Turn to your left. Step to the wall. Place the first collar around your neck and snap it shut.' With only slight hesitation, she complies. Number 1 is secured to the wall. I take each of them through this process in turn. Number 3, the redhead, pulls the collar about her neck but doesn't push it shut. An indicator on my console remains red, and I snap at her. She complies. Finally, my charges are well restrained in proper line. I check the mirror on the way from my quarters. Suitably imposing in black T-shirt, regulation BDUs and spit-shined boots. I nod and smile at my reflection before composing a stern face, dropping a hand to the nightstick at my belt, and heading for the main chamber. Silently, I let my eye trace every curve of each girl, starting from the bottom and ending at her eyes. I hold her gaze until she breaks. With the redhead, it takes two runs of her body and a lecherous grin to make her shift uncomfortably and glance away. I can read the uncertainty in their eyes.. awakening disoriented, confined within a new set of walls, stripped of clothes and shocked into compliance. 'Welcome to Camp Treve.' My voice booms in the stone room as I affect the tone of a drill sergeant. 'My name is Jacob Treve, but you will always address me as sir. You have each been transferred into my care after proving incapable of adjustment to prison life.' This is, of course, quite true. Each of these women, gathered from prisons across the States, were declared incorrigible by the frustrated wardens responsible for them. Several shift about, uncomfortable with my blunt statement. They were selected by my sponsors from a large pool based on their bad attitudes and my personal criteria, beauty. That is the arrangement. 'As far as the prison system is concerned, you no longer exist. You belong to me now.' My eyes cut down the line, letting this statement sink in. 'The Camp is an experimental rehabilitation program. You _will_ be rehabilitated. My methods are quite simple. None of you know how to follow rules. Here, you _will_ follow the rules, or pay dearly for breaking them. You will come to hate Camp Treve so strongly that you will do anything to avoid returning, including integrate with society.' Again, I pause for effect. 'Camp Treve has a single exit. You are free to walk out that exit at any time.. simply request to be released, and I will let you out.' Another pause, but one with purpose. It hasn't failed in the past, nor does it this time. 'I would like to go please, Sir.' I had expected number 3, but it is one of the other lead girls. The redhead isn't far behind in the request. 'Would anyone else care to leave the Camp at this time?' The third leader expresses her desire to go, but the others remain cautious. I finger the remote, releasing the collars of the three who have asked to depart. They step hesitantly away from the wall, clearly expecting a trick of some sort. Another combination on the remote and a broad metal door slides open revealing a small square area beyond. 'Step into the lift, and I will send you to the surface.' 'May we have clothing?' Giving the girl a withering glance, I say 'You will address me always as sir.' She repeats her question properly, and I reply in the negative. 'You will have to fend for yourselves. Get into the lift.' Still suspicious, the three lithe women move cautiously into the elevator. I close the door, and use other keys to start it towards the surface. To my remaining charges, I say 'Let's watch, shall we?' A faux stone panel slides open to reveal a large monitor in the wall, it's color image depicting the women in the lift as it ascends. It is a short ride. A portal in the Camp's roof slides open, and raw, brilliant light from the outside streams in, illuminating the three in stark detail. They immediately huddle about themselves in the bitter cold. As the elevator reaches the roof, the vast expanse of snow- and ice-covered terrain surrounding the Camp is revealed on the monitor. I know that the women on the roof are treated to a much more overwhelming view.. barren, blinding whiteness stretching away from this lone building as far as the eye can see. The mesh sides and open roof of the lift provide the women no protection from the sub-zero temperature and biting wind. Of course, their nudity does little to improve the situation. In the main chamber, we can hear their screams and pleas faintly over the rumble of the wind across the microphone. It is less than a minute before they are huddled together in a corner of the lift. 'You can't just leave them there!' I turn to look at the speaker, number 8. 'Actually, I can. After all, they requested to leave the Camp. But I won't, for much longer. This is a valuable lesson.. be sure you remember it.' Her eyes, reflecting her horror, are inexorably draw back to the monitor, and the shivering ball of women it depicts. After several minutes, I start the lift back down into the bowels of Camp Treve. It takes some encouragement to get the three women to move from the lift back to their places in line. Again, my nine charges stand restrained before me, although three are shivering uncontrollably. I address the girls once again. 'Camp Treve, and the ten of us for the moment, are in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness. The nearest human presence is a military outpost, one hundred eighty miles to the south. Miles of ice and snow. The average temperature this time of year is about zero. There are no vehicles here at the Camp. As I said, you are free to leave any time you wish.' I return to the collared women, pushing a large wheeled brazier filled with glowing hot coals. A number of thin handles protrude from its heat. 'This should warm the room a bit,' I say, glancing at each of the shivering women who had thought to leave. 'Earlier, I said you would pay for breaking the rules of Camp Treve. I see that each of you has already done so.' Several gasps and small protests respond. Again, they are shifting uneasily. 'Each of you bore a number on your right hip, and that number is your only identity here. As I have no intention of memorizing you by number, it must be displayed at all times.' I slide my hand into a padded mitt as I speak. 'Since you have taken it upon yourselves to remove these numbers, I must apply them in more permanent form.' With this, I pull the first glowing iron from the fire, swinging its red-hot tip before their eyes. They follow the two-inch high numeral with wide eyes, and begin to beg. I thrust the iron back into the fire, shrug off the mitt, and take the restraining band to number 1. The spring steel band hooks to the wall on either side of her right thigh. Working the ratchet, I pull the band to excruciating tightness. She pleads desperately with me. I retrieve the first iron. 'This mark will be quite permanent. You may wish to interlock your hands behind you.' She does so. Others have desperately grasped the iron as it sinks into their flesh, seriously burning the palms of their hands. I line the iron up, aiming for the fleshy pad directly beneath the point of her hip bone. I watch the fine hair on the area shrivel back from the heat. She, of course, can go nowhere. With a sure strike, I press the small '1' into her. Quick as lightning, it smolders its way, burning her flesh. 1's violent screams echo throughout the chamber, accompanying the sound of meat on a grill. The others are screaming in sympathy or fear. After a small fraction of a second, I pull back the iron with some effort and a slight ripping sound, and place it aside. I apply a wet, cool towel to the area. A slight steam rises. Number 1 hangs from her collar in shock, cleanly marked. I release the steel band and move on to number 2. Number 3 tries to fight me off, and I slap her face. Slap her breast with all my strength, leaving a clear red imprint of my hand. She resorts to futile attempts to cover herself, screaming. She, too, feels the iron's heat. Finally, I stand back and take in my freshly numbered charges. They are numb with shock, and hang rather quietly in their collars, with just a sob here and there. I slather antibiotic ointment into and around each brand. 'Follow the rules in the future, ladies,' I say, as I turn to depart. 'Sir?' one asks. 'Yes?' I reply, turning half about. 'What are the rules, Sir?' 'You'll learn them as you go,' I say with a bit of a wry grin. 'If you suspect you shouldn't do something, it's probably against the rules.' 'Number 7, stand in the center of the cell.' My harsh voice, amplified and surrounding them, startles the women awake. 7 moves groggily to the center of the room as the others scoot uncertainly back against the walls. 'Number 7, did you masturbate last night?' On the monitor, I see her throat work, but her gulp is inaudible. 'No, Sir.' 'Number 7, turn to your right and watch the monitor.' I work at my console, revealing a monitor in their cell and starting the video from last night. The low-light, computer-enhanced video has a greenish tint, but clearly shows the naked number 7 huddled against a wall. Her right hand moves slowly between her tight thighs. Little shudders wrack her frame, betraying her stealthy orgasm. 'Number 7, did you masturbate last night?' 'Yes, Sir,' she says quietly. I tell her to say it louder, and she does. 'Number 7, move to the door.' 'Please, Sir, I didn't know..' All nine women scream and hop to their feet as I send a strong shock to the floor. The others are yelling encouragement at her as number 7 moves in jerks to the barred door. When she reaches it, I shut off the current. The door slides silently open before her. "Number 7, follow the red line until you receive additional instruction.' She moves to follow my orders, and door locks securely behind her. I sync my monitor with the one in the cell, and the other nine of us watch number 7 proceed along the red line. She follows it through the main chamber, and I activate a barred door on the far side, allowing her to continue along the line down a narrow corridor. I switch and pan cameras to keep her in view. 'Number 7, enter the next room on your left.' My instruction booms throughout Camp Treve, and she complies. 'Stand against the far wall, facing the door.' I watch her take in her surroundings as she crosses the room. A low, padded table. The stone walls draped with whips, chains, paddles, some of the latter prickling with metal spikes. Several apparatuses draped with opaque sheets. She reaches the wall and stands as instructed. At a leisurely pace, I exit my quarters and head for corrective room 1. 'First, you will be disciplined for lying to me.' I stand before her as she presses against the wall, quivering. A sharp rebuke upon my entrance has motivated her to silence. 'Then, we will address your sexual transgression. Your peers will watch throughout.' A click on my remote brings a monitor here to life, providing us a view of my other charges, observing us with rapt attention. She sobs. I instruct her to face the wall, and secure her ankles and wrists to chains, spread wide. She forms an X before me, stretched against the cold stone. 'For your lies, you will be flogged.' I ignore her protestations as I move to the side, selecting a longish flogger with a dozen narrow rubber fall peppered with small steel beads. The beads click together as I shake it out. 7 turns her head at the sound, catches a glimpse of the fierce-looking implement and begins to scream. I let her, and take up a position behind her. Intending to truly discipline my charge, I start with a powerful, full stroke to her ass. 7's high-pitched, pain-laden scream bounces throughout room. I can hear their amplified echoes trailing down the halls from the holding cell, where they must be deafening.. I have that amp at full volume, that the other prisoners not miss the slightest moan in this room. A glance into the monitor shows the other eight, hands clasped over their ears, mouths agape in mirrored screams. Angry red dots appear in stripes across her tender flesh. I administer a vicious beating, fifty strokes in all, each slamming into her at full bore. She is pressed against the rough stone by the force of the blows, and it abrades the front of her body. By the end, her full weight hangs on her arms, tears stream down her face, and her screams of pain are an incoherent stream of sound. 7 screams quite well. Her back, ass, and thighs have become a mass of red except of her spine, which I have avoided. Little indents, oozing blood where the skin has split, dot her flesh, especially her ass, where I have concentrated, and high back where her shoulder blades near the surface. I turn the hose on her. Icy water powers away her blood, and spirals down a drain in the floor. The women on the monitor watch on in stunned silence at the brutality of 7's punishment, and its gory result. With gloved hand, I smear a paste onto her back, inspiring a series on new screams. The mix of healing ointment and fiery cinnamon oil burns into her open wounds. When her shudders slow, I release her bonds and she drops to the floor. I lift her in my arms, laying her gently on the table. The cool plastic covering is soothing to her burning back, and 7 is compliant, exhausted, as I restrain her. Wrists bloodied from the earlier strain at the table's head. Waist strapped tightly down. Ankles to thighs, and thighs tautly to the base of the table. 'While at Camp Treve, you will receive only the sexual gratification I see fit to grant you.' I speak loudly, as much for the benefit of the others as to 7. A quick check shows both audiences to be attentive. 'Number 7, last night you masturbated yourself to orgasm. The stealth with which you did so, and your lies to me this morning, prove that you suspected this act to be a violation of my rules. Not that this matters. As I informed you yesterday, transgressions are dealt with quite harshly here.' I roll one of the draped machines to the base of the table, strip off the cover and lock its wheels. The piece gleams brightly, all shiny metal. A single jointed arm extends from its squat base, and I position in near her sex. I use the remote to re-position the camera, panning in until her prone form fills the view afforded my other charges. 'Your punishment will fit the crime. We will start by giving you the orgasms you seem to desire so desperately.' She lays helplessly spread before me. I gather some lubricant on a finger, and begin to gently massage her clit. It grows to fullness under my attentions as I stretch it gently. I carefully expand her hood, pulling it up to make room for the machine's little tube. Push against her public bone, pressing her as far up the table as her restraint allows. 7 will be unable to pull away from the machine's touch. I move the rubber and metal tube at the end of the arm into place, fitting her clit snugly into its grip. Press it into her and tighten the arm's joints, locking it in place. I run straps from the arm around her hips as a final caution. All in readiness, I bend to the machine's base. Turn on the power. A display lights, and I select several options then hit start. The device emits the faintest of buzzing. I stand back to watch her reactions. 7 thrusts her hips at the machine. Her head is thrown back, eyes closed. Tongue to lips, moaning softly. The machine's sound changes slightly, and 7 pushes her pelvis into its kiss with more serious intent, helpless against her building arousal. The machine cycles somewhat randomly through a series of stimulations to her clit. A gently sucking motion, powered by a miniature vacuum. Vibrations in a variety of intensities directly into her bud, some faint enough to be barely perceivable, others like a miniature earthquake, sometimes undulating between the two extremes. A spinning motion, dragging the slightly roughened interior of the tube around her tender flesh. A slight shock to either side, just a tingle, a tickle. Combinations of these sensations. Quickly, 7 is writhing in orgasm. Moaning loudly. Hitching with squeals as the intensity drives her over the top. The machine continues to whir relentlessly. It is about fifteen minutes before 7 starts to beg me to make it stop. Her hoarse requests are broken periodically by the high-pitched squeaks of yet another orgasm. Every muscle in her body is taunt, trembling. A light sheen of sweat breaks out on her, and she glistens under the lights. Her nipples, raw from the stone walls, strain upward, her chest heaving for breath. Eyes plead to me. I turn away and walk to my quarters. I sit back at my console, watching the monitors. One shows 7, strapped in place as she has been for the last ten hours. Her hair is pasted to her head, eyes lidded with exhaustion, body trembling helplessly. She went silent some hours ago as her voice failed her. Still, her body responds defenselessly, wracked by shudders of orgasms that have grown farther apart but continue despite her fatigue. The machine continues its merciless attentions. A second monitor shows the scene in the holding cell. Several girls have curled in corners to sleep, but the rest continue to watch 7, unable to pull their eyes away from the girl's torture. Some are weeping in sympathy while others remain stoic and aloof. I note the reactions of each. I turn on my microphone, into the cell. 'Wake up and pay attention, my lovelies. Things are about to get interesting again.' I send a brief jolt into the floor, encouraging them to gather before the monitor. I walk to corrective room 1, whistling. My recently over-sexed little pet looks at me with hazy, pleading eyes. I hold her glance and move to the machine. Depress a button sending it into one final flurry, every motion set off at once. The inescapable sucking, vibrating, rotating and shocking against her raw fleshy bit rocks her almost immediately into a final, protracted orgasm. I let my gadget run a moment longer, then shut it down. 7's body flops as she relaxes suddenly, her muscles twitching and cramping from hours of constant strain. She takes rapid, shallow breaths. I release the machine from her, and pull it away. Her clit is a bright red, inundated with blood, rubbed raw. Fluids of her arousal have pooled on the table. I run a finger through her juices, then rub it on her clit. She twitches and tries to pull away, screaming silently. 'A bit tender, my dear?' I know she can't answer, and don't expect her to. I release her sex for the moment. Turn to a cabinet, retrieving three items: a piece of metal shaped like a popsicle stick but gently curved, a length of fine wire with a small ball on one end, and a pair of vice grips. There are two small holes in one end of the stick, close to each other. I thread the free end of the wire through one, and back through the other. Pull it about, until the ball come to rest against the back of the stick and a small loop protrudes from the curved side beyond. I plug in a soldering iron, which will soon be hot. With the remote, I switch the view in the holding cell to a free-standing camera, which I position between her thighs while giving myself room to work. I adjust it to give the other girls a tight view of 7's twat and her raw clitoris. '7, some might say that you have, in the last ten hours, experienced enough orgasms to last a lifetime. However, you may not yet be convinced to follow the rules. We have one last part of your punishment. I am going to remove half of your clit.' 7's eyes go wide with shock, and she mutely shakes her head, no. I can faintly hear shrieks of horror carrying through the halls from the holding cell. Over 7's whispered protestations, I position the metal stick above her sex, slide the loop carefully over her swollen clit and pull it snug halfway up. She tries to squirm away, but her bonds leave nowhere to go. I check the monitor, and am pleased to find the other prisoners attentive, peering over their hands which cover mouths wide with horror. I clamp the pliers on the wire's free end. Holding the stick in my left hand, pliers in my right, I glance up at 7. 'You earned this. I hope that you will behave more appropriately in the future.' Suddenly, I jerk the pliers upward. The thin wire slices cleanly through her bud, severing it against cold steel. Her exhausted body goes rigid and trembling. A hoarse wheeze escapes her raw throat. The end of her clit falls to the table, and her blood flows over it. I cauterize her with the soldering iron, leaving a burned stub drawn up under her hood. I spray her clean and carry her to the cell. End Part I
Part II I carefully observe the emerging dynamic among the women. They have been quiet all day in the aftermath of 7's correction. Two of them, 2 and 8, have taken to comforting the exhausted, battered girl while the others ignore her. I note with some humor that all of my charges carefully keep their hands away from their privates. There is plenty of water in the cell, provided from a trough in a corner, but they haven't eaten since arriving at the Camp. I want them hungry and irritable. Part of my task, as I see it, is to motivate my prisoners to break the rules. I fix nine small bowls of plain oatmeal, and place them in the dumbwaiter. Return to my console, and trigger it into the room. Most of the women start at the grinding noise, and watch with some trepidation as a panel opens in the wall. Smelling the gruel, they quickly gather at the dumbwaiter, except 7 who remains huddled in a corner. There is some jostling to get at the food, but all eight retreat with a little bowl and consume it ravenously with their fingers. One bowl remains on the dumbwaiter - 7's. I watch, amused, as they eye it. 'Carol,' number 2 says quietly to 7, 'Do you want to eat?' 'Fuck her, she's not hungry.' The redhead moves to take the bowl as she says this. 9, one of the others that I have termed 'leaders', jumps toward the last bowl as well. A fight ensues, and the two lithe girls battle viscously though briefly. Cries from the others to stop go unheard. Number 3 ends up perched atop the prone, smaller 9, yanking her head sharply back by her raven hair. 'Don't ever fuck with me, you bitch!' 3 yells over the pinned girl's yelps of pain. She tosses her red hair back over her shoulder and slaps the girl's face hard with her free hand. 'You understand?' Another powerful slap. 'Yes, yes!' 3 stands off her opponent, glorious chest heaving, and issues her a final kick as she scampers away. 'Don't any of you fuck with me.' She glares about the room, and the others cringe away. The redhead is a large, powerful girl, an amazon of sorts.. it will be a pleasure to break her. I watch as she gulps down the final bit of gruel. They have rested long enough after the little meal. 'Number 2,' my voice booms, startling them, 'Step to the door.' 'What? No!' she protests, moving towards the door none the less. 'Get your ass over there!' 3 screams at her, apparently having no desire to feel the floor again. Most of the others stand, just in case. 'No!' number 2 yells again, reaching the door. 'Jackie ate Carol's food, not me!' I chuckle as the redhead yells at her to shut up. The door slides open. 'Number 2, follow the red line until you receive additional instruction.' She complies, weeping as she walks along the line. I direct her to one of the correction rooms, and have her collar herself to the wall. I return my attention to the cell. 'Number 3. Move to the door.' 'No.' She states it flatly, not with the hysteria apparent in the other girl. The others begin screaming at her to go. I wait. I start with a low tingle. The others continue to yell at 3, hurling threats. She stares belligerently into the camera, right at me. Slowly, steadily, I begin to increase the shock. Even 7 finally struggles to her feet. My captives' screams take on a note of pain. The big redhead gets in a good shot at the first girl to approach her, but the others quickly overpower the woman. Slapping her, yanking her flowing hair. They knock her down, continuing to beat her, and sit and kneel upon her prone form, pushing her tender flesh into the biting current. Their screams are like music, loud in my quarters. Finally, they have her pressed against the bars of the door. I shut off the current, and the others move back. Battered and crying, 3 collapses to the floor. I slide the door open. 'Number 3, follow the red line until you receive further instruction.' 'You bitches!' she screams. 'You fucking cunts!' 3 struggles to her feet, and slowly moves down the red line. She hesitates in the main chamber, looking about. In a quiet vice, through the speakers in the chamber, I warn her, 'Any toe that leaves the line gets sawed off.' 3 flinches at the thought, and continues woodenly down the line. I guide her to the fourth room down the narrow hall, the wet room. She enters the tiled space and slowly clicks her collar shut at my direction. I relax for a moment, collecting my thoughts. A beating for 2, and something much more interesting for 3 would be appropriate. I decide to restrain the redhead first, then leave her to regain some of her fire while I stretch my muscles on 2. I stride purposefully into the wet room, sliding the door shut behind me, and stand before my charge eyeing her battered body. Still simply magnificent. 'You look a little the worse for wear. It seems your fellow prisoners don't appreciate your headstrong nature the way that I do.' She looks at me sullenly. I glance around the clinical, white-tiled room. It is rather small, and most of the contents are, as usual, draped in storage. I shake the cover off a free-standing frame and roll it into the center of the room. It gleams, all chromed, an eight-foot high rectangle attached at the center of each long side to vertical posts rising from the wheeled base. Check to make sure it is locked in the upright position, as it rotates 360 degrees. Release the hydraulic cylinder that raises the entire assembly, dropping the bottom near the floor. I open her collar, and shove her towards the center of the room. She glares at me. I instruct her curtly, slapping her face and tits at the smallest hesitation. Stand her on the little platforms at the bottom of the frame and strap her feet securely in. Suspension cuffs lock on her wrists. She shrieks a bit as I spin her upside down to better stretch her as I fasten them. Quite tautly attached to the frame, I spin her upright and leave her to consider what will come next. I hang 2 from the ceiling of correction room 1 by the wrists, her toes barely able to touch the floor. She has been protesting her innocence since I entered. 'I know that, number 2. 3 is paying for that little transgression.' Working the remote, I bring up a view into the cell. I also activate the monitor there, giving them a glimpse of 2's naked, suspended body. Turn the audio from this room on in both the cell and the wet room. 'All right ladies,' I say loudly, 'gather round. It is time for a brief lesson.' They gather too slowly for my taste. 'Get your asses in front of the monitor, NOW!' 2 flinches from my sudden yell, and the seven in the cell comply. I turn to my hanging captive. 'Number 2, tell me how you broke the rules.' 'I don't know, Sir. I _didn't_ eat Carol's food, Sir.' Shaking my head, I ask her 'You haven't a clue, do you? Let's play a little audio for everyone's benefit.' I hit another button on the remote. 'This is from your first day at Camp Treve.' A beep precedes the sound. My voice. 'Earlier, I said you would pay for breaking the rules of Camp Treve. I see that each of you has already done so. Each of you bore a number on your right hip, and that number is your only identity here.' 'And these two statements, from earlier today.' Another beep. 2's voice. 'Carol, do you want to eat?' Beep. 'Jackie ate Carol's food, not me!' 'Whose voice was that?' My eyes are hard as I watch her. Her quiet reply comes, 'Mine, Sir.' 'Louder!' I demand. She complies quickly. 'How did you break the rules, number 2?' 'I.. I used the girls' names, not their numbers, Sir.' 'You have no names. None of you have names, only numbers. Any use of a name by a prisoner is a violation of the rules of Camp Treve. Do you understand, Number 2?' She nods. 'Say it.' She does. 'What is your name?' 'I have no name, Sir. I am identified only as number 2.' I nod, satisfied. Shut down all of the audio and visual connections, leaving us isolated from the rest. Walk down the wall, selecting a few implements. I can feel her eyes on me. Turn back to her. Arrange my things on the table. Finally, select a hardwood paddle and start to work on her ass. Not much for a warm up, my first blow sends her toes skittering across the floor. She swings back to center to meet the next strike. Her screams echo down the halls. 2's ass is a flaming red by the time I switch to a narrow-falled latigo flogger. It's stinging blows rain down on her back, ass, thighs, belly, breasts. Driving the air out of her. Relentless, rapid, heavy strikes. 2's erect nipples smacked back into the soft mounds of her tits. I wrap around her sides, sending the pointed tips speeding into her belly and crotch. Her face is wet with tears, chest heaving, as I turn back to the table. Draw a vampire glove onto my left hand and take up a long leather paddle in my right. The paddle is heavily studded, blunt little posts on one side and pointed steel pyramids on the other. A solid blow to her red ass. A clear pattern of little red dots spring up on her, where to posts have driven into flesh. The paddle elicits louder screams from 2. Between blows, I scrape my left hand across the area just struck, and squeals result. I coat her body with the little dots before flipping the paddle over. The pyramids leave more distinct dimples, often showing blood in the center. These, too, cover her by the time I am finished with the paddle, concentrated on her ass and tits. I grasp her privates with my gloved hand after the paddling, squeezing and kneading her tender bits. 2 squeaks and squalls. I trade the paddle and glove for a rattan cane. 'Name a number.' 'Sir?' she replies breathlessly. 'A number. Pick a number.' 'Five, Sir.' 'Let's add a one, shall we? I'll be nice and put it in front.' I move behind her, to her left. 'Count for me. Count each stroke.' Suddenly, I swing the cane into her ass, flexing my wrist for speed, cutting the first of fifteen sets of parallel lines into her. 'One,' she whispers, after recovering the breath screamed out of her. Number 2 locked securely back into the cell, I walk casually into the wet room. 3 looks up at my entrance, flipping her head to get the hair out of her eyes. I note that she seems to have composed herself after the beating at the hands of her peers, and her fire and cockiness have returned. Quite pleasing. 'You'll never wear me down. Fuck you and your little Camp,' she says, and tries to spit on me. A little too far away. 'Do your worst, you prick.' 'Oh, you wouldn't want that, sweetheart.' I approach her, and trail my fingers lightly down her torso, tracing the curve of one breast. Her stretched, firm body is unable to pull away from my touch. This time, her spit is on target. I casually wipe it from my face with one finger, and rub it off on her twat. Begin to gently massage her there, rolling her between thumb and forefinger, until she responds helplessly. I stop as she begins to thrust into my hand. 'Bastard.' She venomously hisses the word at me. I chuckle. 'Perhaps another time, number 3.' Look at her contemplatively. 'Of course, you know well how you broke the rules. Tell me.' She glares at me silently, a sneer on her face. 'You're much more stubborn than bright, aren't you 3?' I snap the tazer off my belt, and flick it a couple of times. Its blue light dances before her eyes, accompanied by a crisp crackling. I lower the silent unit along her body, resting its electrodes against her crotch. 'Tell me.' This is getting through to her. Her eyes are wide with fear, and there is a tremble in her voice. 'I took number 7's food.' I look at her expectantly. Glance down at the tazer, shifting it a bit, then back into her eyes. Realizing her mistake, she quickly blurts out a correction. 'I took number 7's food, Sir.' I smile at her and replace the unit back at my belt. 'Well then. Certainly, in retrospect, you realize that such a thing must be against the rules, and a punishment is due. I think we can find something that fits the crime.' I wheel a squat, low machine over near her, and remove its cover. Its function is not obvious.. it just looks like a box on wheels. Plug it into the wall outlet. Retrieve a hose and run several gallons of water into the unit. The power switch brings the display to life, and I adjust a control until the 'Temp' readout shows 100. The number beneath is starts at 42 and begins to rise as the water heats. She watches me suspiciously, uncertain what I intend. Next, I retrieve a small armload of items from a drawer and arrange them on top of the machine. A tube a lubricant. Several lengths of rubber tubing. A couple of other rubber items. A shining metal device, curved in complex fashion and padded in places. I glance up and grin at her trepidation. The temperature display reads in the 60's and still climbing. Connect two pieces of tubing to little nibs on the back of the machine. Into the opposite end of one, I plug one of the rubber items, similar to a double nozzle though somewhat larger. Attach an inflator to the plug. Push the other tube onto a small, heavy balloon and connect a second inflator, one with a longer hose. I am ready, but the water is not. We wait patiently for its temperature to climb. 'Let's begin,' I say to her with a smile. 'What the fuck are you going to do to me?' 'Well, let me show you.' I release the pivots on each side of the frame and swing her face down, re-locking in that position. Taking up a finger of lube, I massage it into her anus. 'Ahhh, you fucking pervert!' I laugh at her, thrust two fingers roughly up her tight ass and begin twisting them about. She yells, but is helpless before me. 'Now, sugar, we can do this easy or hard. I'm going to place this up your ass,' I say, dangling the nozzle over her shoulder. 'You can clench up and make me shove it in, or you can relax. Your choice.' The slick rubber slides easy into her, she wisely choosing to cooperate. I start to pump the inflator. The twin bulbs expand, one outside of her, the other in. She yelps a bit more as it relentlessly stretches her hole. Each bulb grows to the size of a tennis ball, locking the plug in place and creating some measure of discomfort. And a tight seal, by the way. I swing her face up, body again parallel to the floor. Retrieve the metal device and hold it over her head. 'Open your mouth.' 3 shakes her head vigorously from side to side. I rap one nipple hard with the tips of my fingers and she cries out. Repeating this every few seconds, I wait patiently until she spreads her mouth wide for me. I position the jaw spreader against her upper teeth and strap it securely around her head. Pulling the allen wrench, which works as a key, from my pocket, I begin to ratchet the spreader open. Carefully fit her lower teeth into the padded receptacles and continue to turn the wrench. I lean into it, and 3 begins to scream incoherently. Her beautiful mouth works its way open under the force. Satisfied that she won't be closing her mouth any time soon, I return the wrench to my pocket. The muscles at the sides of her jaw begin to jump as I swing her upright by 45 degrees. I take up the second tube and slather a heavy coat of lubricant on the balloon. 'Again, you can make this easy or hard. This,' dangling the twin tubes before her eyes, 'is going down your throat and into your stomach. You can help by swallowing, or I can get a piece of wire and shove it down. You decide.' With that, I work the balloon into her mouth and start it down her throat with my fingers. 3 works to overcome the gag reflex, and begins swallowing. I feed the tube down her, pushing gently. After two feet or so of tubing have disappeared down her throat, her continued swallowing has no further result. I stop pushing, and she relaxes, looking at me with miserable eyes. I pump the second bulb a handful of times. 'Now let's have some fun.' She tries to reply, but forms no meaningful words. I swing her upside down again, and wheel the frame around so that she looks my way. Work the lever on the hydraulic base, raising her.. I want her eyes where I can see them. At the machines controls, I flip two switches, starting a pair of small pumps that hum quietly. Turn the dial marked '1', starting a flow of warm water into her ass. Gently. She struggles a bit, feeling the water begin to fill her. A digital readout shows volume passed, flow speed and back pressure, providing me a great deal of information about her predicament. 3's lower belly starts to distend. This one pump would eventually fill her stomach as well, but I think a second flow makes this less comfortable. I spin the dial marked '2', initiating a flow through the second tube into her stomach. She has taken on almost three gallons of water in total, and her stomach is grossly distended, bulging out. I slap it playfully, hearing a satisfying slosh from within her. As the pressure builds, 3 begins to grunt and scream continuously. Finally satisfied that she is as full as she'll safely get, I turn down both pumps. I check her mouth and ass, and pleasantly find the fluid to be locked securely within. 'We'll let that stew for a bit.' 3 shakes her head from side to side as I leave the room, retreating for a leisurely snack in my quarters. I watch her squirming, stretched tightly and hung upside down, pumped full of water, as I eat. Everything seems to taste better in such situations, and I take my time. 'Let's shake you up a bit, 3.' I unlock the pivots and start to jostle the frame. Loud sloshing noise come from her belly, and her screams intensify. I begin to spin her rapidly up, and then down. Although the frame can't spin freely around without pulling the tubes free, I am quite strong enough to speed her across a 180 degree range. Her face is bright red, and 3 is having obvious trouble catching her breath. For the screaming or the dizzying motion, I am unsure. Eventually, I stop her upright. Release the hydraulic, lowering the frame again. Retrieve a flogger from a drawer. I enjoy floggers a great deal, and have some variety. Most that I own are quite harsh. This selection is a long rubber flogger, with nine thick, square fall. The stiff, sharp corners of the rubber tend to cut nicely. Since it protrudes so wonderfully, I start with her belly, slamming strokes into her pearly skin. The impact causes her to twitch violently. 3 marks extremely well, and soon has dozens of bloody lines running across her front. I spend some time on her tits, and then her ass. I end some thirty minutes later with an unpredictable flurry of hard, rapid strikes to all three targets. 'One final little thing before I let all of the water gush out of you, sugar,' I say pleasantly as I swing her upside down again. 'All of this beating has me wound up.' I pump her upwards, stopping when her chin is waist high. Stand in front of her. Unbutton my fly and let my hard cock flop out before her eyes. Rub it about on her face. Slide my member into her stretched mouth, into the warm, waiting hole. Mute her protestations by thrusting down her throat. I mouth rape number 3 with great vigor, slamming my cock into her, my balls flopping into her eyes. Finally, I pull back and come over her face. She is sobbing, and her tears mix with my come, both running into her dangling hair. 'Hmmm.. since you are upside down already, lets start here.' I stand to the side, take up the bulb that trails from her mouth, suddenly release the air and pull. As it deflates, the balloon is pulled down from her stomach and out her mouth. A torrent of murky water, speckled with bile and bits of oatmeal, sprays from her open mouth and her nose. Choking and coughing, 3 tries to regain her breath. I swing her upright, and release the air valve on the nozzle. It shoots out of her ass, still mostly inflated, followed by a second torrent of water, this one more fetid. She screams, as it no doubt feels her bowels are being yanked out. Several blats follow the water, the air from both tubes. 3 is shuddering uncontrollably from the experience. When I let her down, she collapses in her own filth. I spray her and the room clean with icy water, and must carry her back to the cell. I believe I am becoming rather fond of my fiery redhead. End Part II
Part III My morning routine is the same as it has always been here at Camp Treve. I rise early and, after showering and dressing, scan through the video from the cell, recorded during my sleep. Listen to the audio from a sensitive sound-activated recorder.. usually nothing but a few sobs or groans from the slumbering women. The video, of course, has sound as well, but it doesn't play while scanning rapidly. It is important, I believe, to catch everything my charges do. The Camp has been designed with this goal in mind. By this time it is usually 5 or so. I select an aerobics video or two for the exercise session and set them up to play. Wake my charges up with a light jolt to their floor. Walk each in turn down the green line for a morning toilet, then into the main chamber and their waiting collars. Then I join them in the chamber, release them, and encourage vigorous exercise with a singletail. This morning should be interesting. In the wee hours of the day, number 3 moved stealthily among the others. By turning up the sound and filtering out the hiss, I follow their whispered conversations on the video tape with interest. 'Nine,' she says furtively, tapping the girl's shoulder. 'Wake up.' A groggy reply, that I can't make out. 'We need to get this prick. We outnumber him, and if we work together, we can take over the Camp.' 9 looks at 3 for a bit, pondering. 'It's dangerous to even talk like this,' she whispers. 'It's like two in the morning. We have to try, or he's going to beat the fuck out of us. You didn't see what he did to me yesterday.' I can see 3's little shudder. 'You could be next.' She waits, expectantly. 'You're right. But he's always got us locked down or separated.' 'Not during that exercise crap. I've been thinking. If we can get him pissed at someone near the middle, I think five or six of us can take him. Hold him down and shove that nightstick up his ass.' She whispers this last bit quite fiercely, and I can't help but grin. 'The prick will have that whip in hand, which is useless in close.' 9 thinks for a moment then nods. 'I'm in. Have you talked to the others yet?' 'No. I thought you would be the most likely, and the others will agree faster if both of us are in on it. I think 6 will go with us.' 6 is the third of the leaders I have identified. 'She's close to the middle of the line, well positioned to be the bait.' 'When? Today?' 'The sooner the better. He's wearing us down. I say we go this morning.' 9 nods in the affirmative. 'About fifteen minutes into the video.' Another nod. Number 3 move towards 6's prone form. I follow 3's secretive movements around the cell, able to catch most of the words exchanged. Numbers 2, 6 and 7 agree. 1 and 8 argue vehemently against the plan, while the others remain non-committal. The redhead makes a final round among her conspirators, getting agreement that five seems sufficient. She finally retires again. I smile broadly, turning to select the morning's exercise videos. Something to keep them on the floor at first. Abs of Steel, which I rather enjoy anyway. A second hard floor workout, as well. I don a cup, just in case one of them has some brains. I strip off my T-shirt, trading it for an equally black version with long sleeves. Before putting it on, I tape a modified tazer above my waist. Run the lead wires down my left arm and connect them to the flesh-toned little unit strapped there. I spread my first two fingers into a wide V and flex my wrist all the way back. A familiar line of bright blue arches between the little pins extending from my fingertips, snapping in the air. Before waking them, I remove the battery from the tazer at my belt, and lock the nightstick in place with a heavy rubber strap. Turn to the microphone and send a shock to the floor. I walk down the line of women collared to the wall, patting the belly of each with my right hand as I pass. 'You girls are getting a little soft.' I stop briefly at number 3, making a show of examining her stomach. 'Just looking for stretch marks, sugar,' I say with a wry smile. 'Fuck you.' Still grinning, I continue to the next captive. 'Today, for your workout pleasure, I have selected one of my personal favorites. Abs of Steel. I want to see you grunting and sweating, ladies!' The rah-rah speech is a daily torment as well. 'We'll have those solar plexi rippling with washboards of muscle! Let's get to it!' I feel like Richard Simons for a moment. I step back before them, shaking out the whip retrieved from my belt. Finger the remote, first unlocking their collars, then starting the video on the front wall, and finally entering my lockout code just in case one should grab it in the scuffle I expect shortly. As their collars click open, each steps obediently forward to the lines and watches the screen. I barely catch the conspirators' exchange of glances, and 3's little nod, as sexy Tamilee Webb says 'Let's get down on the floor!' with some enthusiasm. 'Let's go! Come on 4, all the way up. Shake that little ass of yours, 2.' I yell various things of my charges and crack the whip over them occasionally, circling before and behind them. I am on edge. Finally, 6 misses a sit-up and starts to do partial extensions. I pretend not to notice until I am directly behind her, then crack a forceful strike into one of her nipples. She screams. 'Work 6! Exert yourself!' Another stinging blow. She does two full reps, then misses another. I pretend rage, swinging a flurry of blows into her body while screaming profanities at her. Finally, on her way up, she yells out 'NOW!' and continues towards a standing position. I plant one waffle-soled boot firmly into her ass, hurling her across the room and out of action for the moment. This kick pivots me to my right, facing 7 as she too stands. She really should have gone for my legs from the floor. Arching my wrist back, I shove the crackling fingers of my left hand into her sweaty stomach. She dances a little gig and collapses unconscious to the floor. I step over her, and number 9 and I meet above 8's huddled form. Unceremoniously I bring my hand up, hooking one of her tits in the V of my tingling hand. She, too, falls to the floor. I spin in time to shrug off the redhead's charge, scooting under her wildly swinging arm and tossing her behind me. Hear her trip to the floor over one woman or the other. I'll deal with her last. Number 2 is close behind, as promised. Breath rushes out of her as I plant my sizable fist in her gut. Doubled over like that, it's quite simple to tap the back of her neck with my extended fingers. Glance at 6 as I turn. She is dragging about on the floor, blood running down her face. Must have smacked her head on the front wall, I think. Number 3 is heading back my way, but notices that she seems alone in the thought. Pulls to a halt. Begins to stumble backwards, eyes wide as I stride purposefully towards her. As I step over 7, she reaches up and yanks the tazer from my belt. The little bitch was apparently playing dead. She holds it against the back of my calf and pushes the button. Nothing. I laugh at her surprised look as she works the button again. I swing my boot backwards, connecting solidly with her head. Twice more, breaking out a cut or two on her face. I continue towards 3. The look of joy that sprang to her face when my tazer was snatched falls away, and she continues to backpedal. A quick glance around shows that all of the others have given up or have no intention of starting now. Number 8 has shuffled back against the wall, under the collars, leaving only 9's unmoving form between myself and the redhead. As I pass her, I reach down and run my crackling fingers down her side. Once bitten and all. Number 3's ass hits the wall. Eyes wide, hands splayed out in front of her, presumably to ward me off. I stop before her, just out of arm's reach. 'Well,' I say conversationally, 'that didn't work, did it?' She's shaking her head strenuously from side to side, though I suspect in protestation of that to come and not in answer to my question. 'Turn around and grab your ankles. NOW!' Surprisingly, she complies.. yesterday's instruction certainly changed her behavior a bit. I reach down and fondle her cunt with my left hand, the two little pins digging into her sensitive parts. Flex my wrist back, initiating shudders that drive her to the floor.. I continue to shock her on the way down. That will sting for a while. I walk to the front of the room, and end standing over number 6. 'You're bleeding on my floor,' I say, bending to grab under her arms and pulling her upright. With a powerful shove, I send her stumbling towards the others. 'Get in your collars.' My tone is hard, eyes smoldering. Those that can, comply. After they have locked themselves away, I lift the others into place and secure them. Those unconscious, 3 and 9, hang limply by the neck. Other have hung from these collars, and it hasn't been fatal yet, although it certainly looks evil. I walk down the line, whip cracking several times against each of my charges. Those awake scream and futilely try to cover themselves from the assault. I lecture them as I go, working hard to leave the impression that I had no prior knowledge of their plan. I want them to think they can scheme during the night. 'Every class of prisoners before you has tried to pull something like that during exercises.' This is untrue, but sounds good. 'They've all failed, just as you did. You may be fearsome to each other,' I explain as I hurl the lash into number 2, 'but even in number you aren't a threat to me. I'm bigger and stronger than you'll even be.' Demonstrate all of that strength in the final blow to 2, sending her into howls. Move on to strike the limp number 3. 'Not only that, but I have all the tools at my disposal. Tools like this.' I hold up my fingers and run a spark across them. I bring them down around 3's right nipple, sandwiching it in the current for a moment. 'I'm also a bit vicious.' 'Who arranged this little plan, number 4?' I begin to whip her, and continue to do so until she speaks the redhead's number. I move to 5 and ask, 'Is that the truth?' 'Yes. Yes!' I beat her anyway. I berate number 6 as I whip her. 'You're not much of an actress, 6. All of the sudden you're missing sit-ups? Next time, just lay off a bit.. I'll see it. I see everything. Perhaps you'll make a better slut than actress. Maybe that exercise will suit you. You did, however, play a pivotal role in this little drama, earning yourself some extra attention.' I shock her in the crotch as well, letting the voltage run through her labia for some time after she looses consciousness. 'You don't even realize how hopeless your situation is.' I lay into the next girl. 'You're secured in this little area. Even the cell is locked. You couldn't even get any water.' Seven screams as I driver the cracker into the charred stub of her clit. 'The remote control, you think. Foolish.' I stand before number 8, and press the remote into her hand. 'Here. Open that door.' I point towards my quarters. She looks at the remote, overwhelmed by the many buttons distinguished by cryptic abbreviations. 'Confusing? I suppose you could eventually figure out the right button. Here, it's this one.' She depresses the button I indicate, but nothing happens. Looks back at me. I take back the remote and begin to lash her. 'Oh, it's that button all right. But the control is locked. Without my code, it's useless.' 'Guess the code? You don't even know how many digits.. could be two, could be ten.' Move before number 9, who has started to stir. 'You think you might convince me to reveal the code?' 9's screams proved that she is fully awake. 'I was taken hostage after an assault in Beirut. Whipped, cut, bitten, electrocuted. My captors kicked me in the balls until they bled. Shoved needles into my cock and heated them with matches. Pain is my friend, and she walks with me always. Sleeps in my bed at night. Rises with me in the morning. The worst you little cunts could do would be a relaxing diversion.' Releasing their collars, I say quietly to the bleeding women, 'Get back in your cell while I decide to whom I should do what first.' My correction rooms are full. Each of the five holds one of the conspirators in this morning's game, directed into the room collars by my voice. The others, those who chose not to participate, are huddled together in the cell. Whistling, I walk the hall, deciding where to start. The redhead. She awaits me again in the wet room, and will be the first to start and last to finish. I noted her vehement reaction to the water torture, and have decided to repeat it. Turn into the wet room and pull the door shut behind me. 'Hello, pet. Your peers have named you the instigator of the little drama this morning.' She shakes her head, no. 'Oh yes. Since I enjoyed pumping you full yesterday, I thought we would repeat it.' 'Noo!' Her yell echoes off the tiled walls. Again I stretch her on the frame. Warm the machine and plug her ass and throat with the inflatables. Pump her as full as I dare with water. Number 3 hangs before me, upside down, her glorious red hair dangling to the floor. Her belly bulges out, grossly distended, and she squirms and cramps under the pressure. Her screams are distorted by the spreader wrenching her mouth wide open. 'This machine has one little trick I didn't illustrate last time,' I tell her while spinning her upright. Return to the machine and start the pumps whirring again. This time, however, the second pump, connected to the tube down her throat, is churning in reverse. I turn the flow controls together, keeping the pressure constant but sending a steady stream of water through her, forced into her ass and sucked out her throat. The powerful little pumps move quite a volume of fluid. Finally, I set the machine to slowly cycle the water temperature from 80 to 120 degrees, which will send her relentlessly from chills to sweats and back again. 'I have one last thing for you, sugar, before I leave for a bit.' I roll over another machine and uncover it. A tall steel post on rollers. A metal arm that extends out supporting a three-part wheel at its end. Various adjustments allow the arm to move up and down the post, and extend or retract in length. I lock the unit in position before her, and she stops yelling long enough to eye it fearfully. I plug it in. I lower the arm, and extend it between her legs. Glance at her, then down at the three knobs on the control panel. The dials currently rest at the vertical position, 0, and extend to negative RPMs to the left, positive to the right. I turn both outer knobs to the left a bit. The machine starts to grind, and the exterior of three disks between her legs start to revolve. A half-dozen rubber strands, spaced evenly about the perimeter of each disk, stretch out from the center as the speed increases. I stop at 100 RPMs. Look up into her begging eyes. She can't see the end of the arm, but the sounds and the breeze between her legs probably give her a good idea of what is to come. Turn a knob on the arm, near the post. The arm begins to rise. One final adjustment to the machine's alignment, shifting it left a bit, right on center. Up a little more, and the strands begin to nip at her, eliciting ear-shattering screams. A little more height and the strands are battering her outer labia with machine gun frequency. The outer wheels are turning from the bottom-up, driving into her from below. I turn the middle dial to the right and bring the center disk to life. Faster and faster. The strands on the middle disk stretch out at her, nearer and nearer the center of her sex. I can tell they are barely scraping flesh when her scream change pitch. More speed. Now I can see them flicking her, a bit to low. A hair faster and the ends are snapping into her clitoris as she strains away from it as far as her tense bonds allow. From her shuddering and hitching, I guess her to be coming already. 'I'll see you in a few hours, sugar, after I see to the others.' Her screams follow me down the hall even with the door secured. Number 6 is next.. my little actress. She, too, I decide, with have a protracted stay in the correction room. I have her collared in 1, and walk that way. 'Hello, 6. You know your transgressions, so there really isn't any sense reciting them.' I move to the low table, unlatch the padded top and lean it aside. The flat metal surface beneath is peppered with hundreds of small holes. 'I thought you might like some acting practice. I'll do some things to you, and you act like you're in pain, ok?' She shakes her head from side to side. 'Oh, I know your acting skills aren't much, but don't be ashamed. I really think you can play this role.' I release her collar and roughly toss her onto the table. She moves to get off. 'Don't you resist me,' I hiss, yanking her back by the hair. I restrain her loosely by wrists and ankles to the corners of the table. I want her to be able to shift about. Standing at the foot of the table, I gaze up and down her beautiful, sleek form. 'You don't have 3's tits, number 6, but you are a great piece of work. Lights, camera, action,' I say with a smile. I bend down. Turn a crank at the foot of the table. The metal top begins to lower slowly. From beneath, hundreds of rigidly mounted, sharp little nails work their way through the holes, slowly taking her weight. She starts to writhe and scream. Soon, her pretty little body rests on the nails, three inches above the flat surface that was so much more pleasant. Her helpless tugging drags her across the points, but she can't seem to stop. 'You know, I once killed a prisoner on this table.' Her wide green eyes stare at me in disbelief. 'Oh yes. I stood atop her and jumped up and down. She died slowly.. blood loss, I think. There's a line of space down the middle. It's no fun once they are paralyzed. After I started, she tried to drive her own head back into the nails, but couldn't seem to do it hard enough.' 'I'll let you get nice and raw. Then, I'll be back.' I give her a lecherous wink. 'Your acting really is improving. That discomfort is quite convincing.' I ponder the fate of number 9, the first girl to agree to 3's plan. She deserves something special for that, but I can't treat her differently than 2 and 7 without revealing the information conveyed by the tape. I'll just whip her, I decide.. whip them all. Walk in on 9, release her and throw her to the center of the barren room. Without ceremony, I hoist her into the air by her ankles, legs spread wide. Her jet-black hair falls towards the floor. Cuff her arms behind her back. 9 has been pleading with me since I entered, although I suspect she knows it's futile. 'Haven't been in one of my little rooms before, have you 9?' I idly reach down to twist her nipples as I speak, sick of her pleas. Screams of pain are much more pleasant. 'You are guilty of plotting against me, which is, of course, a violation of the rules. You really weren't very effective, 9.. one little zott, to this tit as I remember, and you were out.' I twist her flesh viciously, eliciting fresh screams. I select a basic, heavy latigo flogger from a cabinet. Sometimes, it's the location, not the implement. Shaking it out, I stand behind her. She twists left and right attempting to watch me. Throw the flogger back and sling it forcefully into her exposed cunt. Again. Her screams of pure agony are like sweet music. I whip her tender pussy into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp over the next half hour or so, sometimes pulling shorter to drive to tips into her anal region for variety. She yells and struggles satisfyingly as the blood runs down over her face. On my way out but I stop, turn back.. an afterthought. Move to the cabinet one last time. Get a handful of something. Bending down closer to her face, I say, 'By the way, nine. I'm not sure you girls are getting enough salt in your diet.' I stand and sprinkle a liberal amount onto the bloody mass between her legs before turning to go. I string number 7 from the ceiling as well, by her wrists. More ropes to hold her ankles wide apart. I pull up a chair and chat with her.. a rather one sided conversation. She seems to be screaming uncontrollably as I dig into the burned remnants of her clit with a sharp needle. Bored after twenty minutes, I trade the needle for small vice grips and a pair of scissors. 'You obviously didn't learn the cost of breaking rules around here, 7,' shaking my head at her. 'I should stop being so nice. As you don't seem to value the half of your clit that I left, I may as well have that, too.' Place the pliers tightly on what remains for her bud, crushing it. Pull down, hard, stretching out this bit of pliant flesh. Slowly, slowly squeeze the scissors shut, severing her clit at its base, bit by bit. Cast the vice grips aside and move to flog her as she drips blood on the floor. 2 awaits me in correction room 3, and trembles quietly to herself when I stride in. I walk past her and strip the cover from a metal St. Andrews cross, pulling its bottom away from the wall a resulting in a slight incline and a space behind it. Rummage through a low chest, pulling out restraints, a heavy strap, two nasty floggers and a length of thick twisted rope. Move to a chest of drawers and find two clips and two pulleys. Retrieve a step-ladder, and use it to clip one pulley high on the wall above the cross and the other out into the room by several feet. Then I roughly restrain her to the cross. 'Number 2, I am disappointed in you. I expected you to be smarter than this.' 'Please, Sir. I'm sorry.. so sorry. I..' 'You will be sorry, but I don't think you understand that just yet.' I shrug. 'Well, it seems that today I have a penchant for cunt torture.' Her eyes widen. 'Most of your co-conspirators are currently bleeding from that area, and I don't think it's a monthly thing.' She, too, begins a senseless litany of begging. I run the thick, bumpy rope between her spread legs and behind the cross. Stand on the ladder and guide it through the first pulley, then the second. Pull it tightly up into her crotch and knot the ends together. On a whim, I go again to the cabinet and collect a spring clip, another length of rope, and about eighty pounds in iron barbell weights. Tie the clip to the end of the rope, and snap it over the other, between the two pulleys. 2 is on her toes trying to escape the bite of the rope. 'Does that hurt?' 'Yes, Sir.' I laugh aloud. 'Not yet it doesn't.' I reach up and yank the rope, pulling perhaps three feet of it's raspy surface through her pussy. She screams for me as the rope bites into her. I pull it back and forth, occasionally far enough to force to largish knot through her crack as well. The first signs of blood begin to show on the rope, and it has stretched a bit, become somewhat loose. That's not good. I hang twenty pound of weight on the second rope, which pulls the entire rig taunt again. Applies, in fact, significantly more pressure than we started with. I return to pulling on the rope, and it burns and cuts at her better than before. By the time I tire of this, eighty pounds dangle from the rig, tugging the rope into her cunt strongly enough that it is real work to wrench the knot through her. She, too, receives a patient beating. I leave the rope to pressure her skinless, bleeding cunt while I strike her. Finally, I carry 2, 7 and 9 back to the cell. Also leave the others some medical supplies and instructions to tend to their wounds. Number 6 has helplessly scraped her back raw, and she too is bleeding on my floor. There will be much to clean after this work. Perhaps it would be instructive to have the women clean up after themselves before returning to the cell. I ponder the idea, but discard it in the end. They would doubtless do a shoddy job of it. My perky little brunette is sweaty and exhausted. I decide to finish with her promptly. I had intended to whip her, too, but my arm is tired.. and looking at her, my dick is hard. 6 watches me fearfully as I undress. 'You're still not much of an actress, number 6. If you remember, I believe I promised to see if you make a better slut.' I step up onto the table. Close my eyes for a moment, savoring the way the nails poke into the soles of my bare feet. Squat down, driving several through the thick calluses on the balls of my feet as they take most of my weight. Place my hands on 6's belly, knees on her thighs, and lower myself onto her. She starts singing again as my weight drives the nails deeper into her back , buttocks and legs. I enter her, and fuck her vigorously. Her screams continue, roughly timed with my thrusts. I come more quickly than I intend, driven to it by the sharp tips of the nails scratching at my balls as they swing. To make up for my quickness, I spend some time biting her nipples. 'Everyone else is back in the cell,' I merrily inform 3 as I enter. I guess it's time to finish with you.' The relentless battering of the whipping machine has started the redhead bleeding as well. The rubber strands are soaked with her blood, and have sprayed a line of red dots up her front and on the ceiling, floor and facing wall. 'You've created quite a mess, I see.' Her voice is gone, and she creates only quiet huffs, barely audible over the noises of whipping. I jostle her full belly, it sloshing in response. I select a handful of harsh whips and add my attentions to the relentless whipping of the machine. End Part III
Camp Treve-Part IV The days go by, and we all settle in to the routine of Camp Treve. I begin to feed my charges more appropriate volumes of gruel, interspersed with more palatable fare, as I certainly don't want them to lose the curvaceous figures I so enjoy. The morning exercise routines are extended, and more intensive workouts introduced.. I work the girls to the edge of exhaustion most mornings. After the second week, we start the beating rotation. I flog each in turn, two a day, with moderate intensity. I usually fill number 3 up with water first, knowing how violently she detests it. It's all part of the objective: make them hate Camp Treve. Listening to their increasingly bitter conversations in the dead of night, it appears effective. Number 9 has taken to teaching the other some basic self-defense. They started timidly at first, clearly fearing some retaliation on my part. Hushed conversations. Became more bold, openly talking in groups. Finally practicing moves on each other. I let them, watching on the monitor, chuckling at the little hammer-locks and front kicks. After several weeks, it is clear they consider themselves quite fierce. And between the morning exercise, afternoon training, and intermittent whipping, all of my charges are tightly toned and sensually muscled. I haven't done anything devious of late, and begin preparations to rectify the situation. I start pulling them out for floggings in twos and threes, which must come to seem a natural thing. I tie them for beating in a variety of ways. Tie them together such that one's movement hurt the others. Hang both from the ceiling, one upside-down, faces strapped into crotches. Although I had been raping one each day, often to orgasm, I stop. I provide them no gratification at all. Continue this until their whispers at night return to the subject of escape, and revenge. I make a video tape that I will show my charges later, speaking to them. Make certain adjustments around the Camp. Always, I have been careful in selecting my little groups.. never more than one of the leaders while keeping appearances random. Today, I select all three of them.. 3, 6, 9. I am hoping they won't be able to resist temptation. Walk them one by one into correction room 2, which I have prepared for this little escapade by removing the majority of furnishings.. it is the only correction room with an electrocutable floor. I watch the monitor with amusement as number 9, the last in place, issues the others a little nod and a meaningful glance. I leave the tazer and nightstick, and remove the batteries from the remote control. The keypads will have to do. Start the computer timer. After jerking the door shut with a clang, I turn to face my three charges. Pull out the useless remote and finger it idly as I address them. 'I feel like working out some frustration today, my little sweethearts. Afraid you're going to be on the receiving end.' As I finish this statement, 3's collar clicks open, the first of several timed events. 'Stand in place for now.' The other two collars open as well, and I slide the remote back into my pocket. I toss the moderately heavy flogger and coil of rope that I brought into the barren room to the floor, and turn away from my charges to adjust the lone chain dangling from the ceiling. The whispers of their feet give me the slightest notice, and I crouch a bit, bracing myself as all three slam into me. The combined weight of the three girls drives me to the floor. We struggle on the floor, they on top of me. With all three in close, they impede each other significantly but still manage several good shots to my head. I retaliate convincingly. Throw one off long enough to plant a foot in another's face, punch one breast that swings by. On we fight. My clothes are something of a hindrance, providing them better purchase than I have on the sweating skin that presses in on me. Their violent yells echo through the chamber. My charges do finally manage to flip me over, and more by weight than design, pin my arms behind my back 'Get the rope! Tie this fucker up!' one screams. Someone swings a foot repeatedly into my balls, and I struggle to remain conscious as they loop the rope around my wrists. 'To the chain!' Ah, the excitement in their voices.. They must have run the free end of the rope through the last link of chain, for I am jerked to my feet. Arms painfully high behind me. Toes the only thing left on the floor. Sharp pain in my shoulders.. dull ache in my nuts.. I settle into a familiar place, letting the pain swallow me whole. I look at them through lidded eyes as they strut triumphantly before me. With obvious pleasure, they berate me. Kick and slap me. 'Let's strip him down.' It doesn't surprise me that number 3 directs this little adventure. She is magnificent in victory, brief-lived through it may be. The other two turn to the task. 'He didn't bring the shocker or the club.' 'But we have the remote!' cries 6, sliding it out of my pocket. Number 3 takes it from the brunette and begins to examine the many button, ordering the other girl back to work. 'Holy shit.. oh my god.' The girls exclamations as they uncover my body aren't in admiration of my heavy musculature. Rather, they stare in shock at the evidence of my trials, my endurance. The lines of little depressions running up and down my torso. Narrow tracks of roughly stitched cuts over my pectorals, thighs, buttocks. Two missing toes. The disfigured flesh of my cock, burned and scarred along its length. Misshapen sac, cradling my one whole testicle and the stringy remains of the other. Most startling perhaps are the larger depressions, healed over now, over my left hip, on top of my right thigh and the outside of my right calf. Where the rats were at me while I was too exhausted to fend them off. 'Jesus,' whispers 9. 'He said something about Beirut. You don't think..' She lets the thought trail off, apparently finding it unthinkable that someone would intentionally do things that would leave such evidence. 'Fuck him. He's ours now.' Number 3's voice is vehement, though she is clearly shaken. 'I've got some frustration to work out,' she says to me with a wry grin She jerks my head up by the hair. 'I'm going to make you scream, you fuck.' 'Better than you have tried, sugar.' She flies into a rage at my reply, and begins slapping me. Apparently, this hurts her hand. She switches to repeatedly lifting a knee into my unprotected crotch. I grunt as each fresh spike of pain shoots through me. 'Hang on, 3.' It's number 9 that speaks. 'Something's wrong. He should be more upset, don't you think?' 3 stops her assault long enough to consider that. Lifts my head by the hair again. 'She's right, asshole. Why are you just hanging there? No struggling? What's the fucking deal?' 'You're all fucked,' I reply through the pain blossoming from my crotch. 'You either let me go and get your pretty little asses back in those collars, or you all die. Right here.' Enraged again, the redhead resumes her attack. 'Wait!' yells number 9. She and 6 drag the other girl away from me. 'What do you mean we're fucked?' 'You're locked in this room.' 'Bullshit! We have the remote.' 'Open the door,' I reply. She instructs the others to get the door open, and they huddle around the complex remote control. I continue. 'There isn't any water in here. And no food back in the cell. I suspect they'll last longer than you will.' 'Shut the fuck up!' 3 screams, trying several buttons on the control. The door remains tightly sealed. Finally, frustrated with the remote, she turns and strides purposely towards me. Waggles the unit before me. 'How does this fucking thing work?' I just smile at her. She takes up my privates in her hand, twisting, squeezing, digging her nails in. The smile stays on my face as the biting agony courses through me, although I sag, placing more of my weight on my arms. She eventually pulls her bloody hand away, bits of my skin trailing out from beneath her nails. 'You're going to fucking tell me.' 'No,' I reply simply, 'I'm not.' My charges again huddle around the remote, over by the door. They converse in hushed tones, broken periodically by frustrated outbursts. At last, they return to me. I note that the redhead has retrieved the whip. 'All right, you motherfucker. We'd rather die than submit to your shit again. There's plenty of time before starvation kills us, and we're going to make sure you regret every second until then.' She shakes out the whip for effect. 'Dehydration,' I say. 'What?' 'You three are going to die of dehydration. The others will starve, a bit more slowly.' She swings the whip hard, if inexpertly, into my balls. I swallow my cry. 'You can tell us your fucking code any time you want,' she tells me, taking another stroke. 'Wouldn't matter.' 'Huh?' 'There aren't any batteries,' I say with a grin. Furious after verifying my words, the three go to work. Circling me. 3, beating me as hard as she can with the whip, seeking out my most sensitive parts. The other two slapping, kicking, scratching. For more than an hour they work tirelessly to give me pain. Number 3 rapes my ass with the handle of the flogger, smearing the bloody result across my face and lips before striking me again. I sink into a familiar void, comfortable in a way, alone with the pain surging through my battered, bleeding body. We feel the first tingles from the floor together. The assault stops at last as they look at each other, confused. Three quick, mild bursts from the floor. Right after the third, I launch into action, drawing on the reserve of energy I have been coveting for this moment. Bounce off the floor, swinging my back, ass and legs through the circle of my arms. As my head swings back upright, I see the women twitching. Hear their screams as they fall to the floor. The fourth burst of electricity is still coursing.. a strong one this time. I debate for a moment, then lower my feet back to the floor. Throw my head back, eyes closed in ecstasy as the power shakes me in its grasp. The helpless twitching that has my charges under control creeps up my legs as I continue to press my feet into the contact strips. So wonderful.. It takes some time, as my hands have gone numb, but I finally manage to free the clumsy knot and stand unbound. The shock from the floor has reduced from the paralyzing level, but continues to jolt all four of us. I on my feet, they collapsed to the floor. I walk, unsteady, to the door as the tendrils of electricity lick at me. Punch a code into the keypad. Walk through the open door, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind me as I return to my quarters for a shower. 'I want to show you all something.' My nine prisoners, collared before me, stare unabashedly at my battered, swollen face. Despite my terrifying visage, I am grinning back at them. At least all of my teeth are still in place. The three that joined me in this game are still trembling uncontrollably, a full day after their return to the cell. It seems I left them collapsed on the electrocuted floor while I showered and took a brief nap. Their muscles are stressed beyond all normal limits. Working the remote, again powered by fresh cells, I reveal the monitor in the holding area and start the video tape. My charges watch with rapt attention as my unmarked face appears there. 'Hello, my lovelies. You are watching this, so things have proceeded nicely. I suspect I am standing before you in somewhat worse shape than this, but happy nonetheless. Three of you are going to turn the tables on me very soon. Have your little chance at me, shall we say. I doubt you'll find it very satisfactory. I didn't scream when my left testicle was crushed to bits in a vice, and I don't intend to start now.' 'Why, you might ask? For one, I intend to enjoy it. I know you can't understand that, but it's true. More importantly, I believe the loss of hope more devastating than hopelessness. Perhaps this little drama will prove a point. You all belong to me.' End Part IV
Camp Treve - Part V Weeks pass quickly in the stone, underground world that is Camp Treve. Turn to months. The season changes, and the brief winter brings torrential ice storms ripping across the Alaskan wilderness. My charges take their days in stride now, including the intermittent beatings I administer with joy. Each, beautiful by any standard upon their arrival, has turned into something of a goddess. Carefully controlled diet, rigorous exercise, and hair grown untrimmed. Vicious wounds inflicted during their adjustment period have healed over. Except, of course, number 7's missing little piece. They have learned, for the most part, to comply without question.. given up. All except the redhead, I suspect. For a two weeks, I have limited their beatings to techniques that leave little in the way of marks. Started them, also, on turns under a UV unit, tanning them to varying extents to suit my fancy. Finally, I decide that my charges have reached perfection. Time for a little fun. I take my time making the video tapes. One of each girl, showing a little something of her beauty, her personality. Interview them, display them. They find it a strange but welcome diversion. Sets of these tapes go out by helicopter, and are delivered to a very select group of wealthy individuals. Less than two weeks later, my first visitor arrives. The private helicopter takes off immediately after depositing its lessee on the Camp's roof, as instructed. I bring my guest down out of the cold, and greet him at the elevator door. 'Welcome, Mr. Whitting, to Camp Treve.' His angular face bobs up and down in response, and I gloss over his obvious discomfort. He is clearly taken aback by my military garb. Standing aside like an usher, I say, 'Let me give you a little tour of the facilities.' I point out interesting details of the Camp's construct, and let Whitting get used to being here. He is a quiet, reserved sort.. a first-time visitor. Thin, tall man in his forties, a tad uncoordinated, soft-spoken and heavily affected of an Australian accent. Whitting brought only a small valise to Camp Treve. Over dinner, we discuss his particular desires, and my fee to sate them. Whitting completes an electronic transfer of funds, and I show him to the guest quarters for the night. * * * 'Well rested, I presume, Mr. Whitting?' We sit before the control panel at his request, watching the sleeping girls as we eat breakfast. 'Indeed, Treve. And looking quite forward to enjoying my little visit. It is a a constant hunger of mine.' 'Keep in mind,' I say, 'that you haven't paid for any permanent damage.' 'Of course, Treve. Should anything,' Whitting clears his throat, 'accidentally occur, the prices you quoted still apply?' I nod. 'Good. You see, things have, er, happened in the past. I tend to get carried away.' I respond with another nod. I found Whitting through such an indiscretion on his part, one that led to an extended trial in England several years ago. The young boy's body was apparently quite mangled. Luckily for Whitting, justice can be bought in England as well. "Shall I interrupt you if things appear to be getting out of hand, Mr. Whitting, or would you prefer to see it through?' I eye him curiously as he contemplates the question. 'No, don't stop me. It's rather cathartic. I will, of course, make good should it happen.' 'Oh yes, Mr. Whitting. There's no way out of Camp Treve otherwise.' His Adam's apple bobs at this, and his eyes widen. Whitting, I decide, is rather pathetic. Weak. I wonder briefly how he would scream under the lash. Shrug to myself. 'Shall we begin?' He nods, hands twitching in anticipation. I turn to the console, and send a brief shock through the cell floor. My charges are jolted awake, and instantly on their feet. They move towards the door by habit, expecting the morning exercise. My voice booms into the cell, 'Number 8 only, follow the red line.' I key the door open, and the girl's shoulders slump as she complies. I'm almost sorry that Whitting picked 8. She has been quite well behaved during her stay in the Camp. But he was definitely drawn to the sensuous little brunette. * * * The surprise is apparent on 8's face as I walk into the wet room with Whitting. A new face after four months might do that, I suppose. She eyes him suspiciously as he sets his case on the small rolling table and turns to examine her. 'Number 8, meet a friend of mine. A rather devious friend, I must admit. I am going to leave you in his care for a while, and suggest that you follow his orders to the letter.' I turn to Whitting, ignoring the girl's protests. 'I'll be watching, with the audio on. Let me know when you would like her collar released, and if there is anything else you need.' I insist on observing, in person or remotely. Whitting expressed a preference for the latter option. Whitting's narrow face dips briefly in acknowledgement, his attention trained on the girl. The tip of his tongue is running along his upper lip, I note. I return to the control panel to watch and wait. When I bring up the wet room video and audio, Whitting is still in the same place. Eyeing her. Finally, he moves towards 8. Reaches out to touch her, gently, hesitantly. His thin hands caress 8, moving lightly over her graceful curves. I barely hear him say 'g'day girl' to her, and turn up the volume. 8 has gone quiet, confused perhaps. Whitting's hands finally reach her privates, and gently explore her folds. With some skill, it seems, as 8 is soon hitching into him and moaning with pleasure. When her orgasm is finished, Whitting cradles her head in his hands and tenderly kisses her. 'What's your name, girl?' he asks, running his fingers through her hair. Her reply is a whisper. 'I don't have a name, sir. I am known only as Number 8.' 'Tsk, tsk. A creature of such beauty should have a beautiful name.' 8 remains quiet. 'Well, I'll just call you sweetheart. Would that be all right?' He tilts her chin up a bit, bringing her eyes to his. 'Yes, sir.' Zoomed in tight, I can just make out a glint of moisture trailing down 8's cheek. I chuckle, and think that this guy is a sneaky bastard. Fascinating to watch, however. Whitting continues to trace his fingers about her face and hair. 8 brings her hands up to touch his forearms. 'Sweetheart, would you like to return the favor? You don't have to, if you don't want to.' His voice is so damn quiet I can barely hear it. 'Yes.' Unbidden, I trigger her collar open. Whitting pulls 8 to him. Cradles her in his arms, kissing her deeply. After a minute, he pushes her gently to her knees on the tiled floor. 8's hands go willingly to Whitting's trousers. She gives him patient head, on and on. 8 works slowly, then fast, then brings her hands to the task as well. Ten minutes go by, twenty. Tiring, 8 pulls back and looks up at Whitting. 'Come in my mouth,' she whispers. Whitting's amplified scream is painfully loud in the control room as he launches into a fit of rage. He slaps 8 powerfully across the mouth, knocking her onto her back. Kicks her several times as she pulls into a ball on the floor. They're both yelling now. Whitting reaches down for a full hand of soft brown hair and drags 8 viciously to the frame standing in the center of the room. The girl is clearly stunned by this sudden change, and cowers away from him. Whitting straps her tautly into the frame by wrists and ankles, berating her all the while. Runs rope back and forth, tying her waist, chest, elbows and knees to the frame as well. Spins her head over heels once, twice. 8 swings to a stop tilted slightly forward. Whitting withdraws to pace the length of the far wall, casting burning glances at the girl from time to time. 8 and I watch Whitting from different angles while he paces and mutters to himself. Finally, he breaks away from the wall and strides purposefully to the frame. Shaking one bony finger in 8's face, he tells her 'I've got something for you. Oh yes, I do.' His slap cuts off the girl's words. Whitting turns to the table, and snaps open his valise. 'You know,' Whitting begins, his tone conversational, 'I really enjoy watching things in pain.' He is removing items from the case as he talks.. a large box covered with dials, a pile of wire, a smaller box. 'I used to do things to rats, and that would be enough. Then, it wasn't. Cats were better. And dogs. But people are by far the most enjoyable.' He pulls wire after wire from the pile spread upon the table, and bends to attach one end of each to the back of the unit with the dials. Whitting continues his diatribe, and his work with the wires. I lose count after three dozen have been attached, and decide to count the knobs instead. Six rows of twelve. 72. A patient little psychotic, I think. Finished with the wires, but still describing his love for inflicting pain, Whitting rolls the little table nearer the girl. Opens the smaller box and shakes out a heap of needles. Zooming in, I note that each needle has a small clip on the butt end. Over the next three hours, Whitting proves that he is indeed patient. Pushing thousands of the little needles into 8's sensitive places. Spinning and rolling her about for better access. Skittering a little dance at her screams. When he finally stands back, she bristles with glints of silver. The needles seem as dense as her pubes about her sex, dozens protrude from each nipple, and they track the length of her ass crack with perhaps a hundred more into and surrounding her anus. Thin lines of them run down her arms and legs. Needles in the webbing between her toes and fingers. Under her nails. Blood trickles from hundreds of the holes. Next, Whitting begins attaching the wires. Yet another box emerges from his suitcase, this one full of short lengths. He connects them meticulously. I note a certain art to it, strategic groupings wired together with the short pieces and to a single lead from the shock box. Two groups for each nipple. Inner and outer labia separated by side, clit distinct from those. He works untiringly for hours. Finally, he stands back to admire his work. Nods to himself, then turns to face directly at the camera. 'Shall we have a spot of food, Treve?' I buzz the door open. * * * I watch Whitting play at the dials. He is like a musician, thin hands moving rapidly, surely, over the little knobs. His eyes see only 8. She dances in pain as he plays with her, and she sings in harsh screams. Yanks against bonds that hold her tight. Uncontrollable spasms wrack her, sometimes in several places, occasionally across her whole prickly body. He continues into the night. 8 has gone hoarse, and only emits infrequent yelps. She is dripping with sweat. A peaceful, blank look has settled on Whitting's face. He watches 8 intensely. Finally, he flips a switch and the girl sags in the frame. Bending over the box, Whitting spins dial after dial, setting them for something, I presume. He flips another switch on the box and 8 screams in a hoarse expression of pain. On the unit, lights flicker randomly, one next to each dial. A row of LEDs down one side undulates slowly up and down. I grin, then laugh aloud. Whitting, it seems, is full of tricks. I confirm my suspicions by tying 8's reactions to the changes of the lights. The total intensity of the shock is going from weak to strong and back while a shifting pattern of leads is live. Whitting watches 8 for something over an hour, that blank look still on his face. Finally, he asks to come out, and I comply. We sit in the kitchen eating a late night snack. 'A fascinating device, Mr. Whitting. And my compliments on your patience in it's use.' He nods. 'Worth the wait, Treve, for me at least. Your girl is marvelous. Everything is better than I could have hoped.' 'How long do you wish to leave her like that?' 'I thought I'd get a good nights sleep, then watch her for a while longer. I hope that's all right?' I sigh inwardly. 'You paid for two days, Mr. Whitting. 8 is yours for that time. However, I will have to ask you to stay a day longer than anticipated to make sure her extremities recover.' I'm not particularly excited by the prospect. Eventually, at least, this little man will depart the Camp. * * * I rise early, as usual, and set about my normal routine. Review cell video from the previous night, exercise eight of my nine charges. Then sit watching 8 from the control room, waiting for Whitting to wake. The girl, still helplessly bound, sags limp on the frame. Random shocks continue to course through her sweat-covered body, observable only by the involuntary spasms they incite. At least she's not dead. Whitting finally buzzes, and I release him from the guest quarters. He moves quickly down the hall straight to the wet room. Foregoing breakfast, it seems. I release this door for him as well. He makes a complete circuit around 8, observing her intently. Stops before her. 'Look at me, girl,' he says quietly. 8's eyes flicker open briefly, filled with pain and exhaustion. 'Look at me,' slightly louder. Again, she tries to comply, but can't hold his gaze. 'Look at me!' Whitting yells, slapping 8 for punctuation. 'Look at me! Look at me!' Again the little man is enraged, his slaps rocking my charge's head from side to side. Whitting's feet jig about and his yells continue. My hand is on the microphone, but I remember our earlier conversation. This strange man will have his catharsis. Whitting finally stops his tirade, and ends up with 8's head between his hands. Thumbs propping her eyes open. His face less than an inch for hers, staring. I notice his arms trembling with exertion. 'You will LOOK at me when I tell you to LOOK AT ME!' His voice has risen in pitch, breaking falsetto at the end. They stay that way for a long time. Finally, he says to her in a more controlled voice, 'You will look at me. Oh yes, you will.' He pulls away and 8's head drops forward once more. Whitting returns to his box and shuts it off. Turns down every dial, then flips it back on. 'Now. Let's try again.' He doesn't seem quite under control to me. 'Look at me.' 8 struggles to comply, but can barely pick up her head. She sags back. His hands go to the machine, and her right tit starts to twitch. He repeats his command, she her feeble attempt to obey. 8's left tit begins to quiver. Actually, a faint smoke appears as well. I sigh, and sit back. Dead already, I presume. * * * Some hours later, Whitting and I sit in the control room. He has reverted to his reserved manner. His hands intertwine and he eyes the floor while speaking. 'I suppose things got a little out of hand in there, Treve. As I said, that tends to happen.' I wonder if he can feel my glare boring into him.. hope that he can. 'I'll make good as I promised.' 'I don't like people who lack self-control, Whitting.' He looks up, startled by the cold tone in my voice. 'Self-control is the most basic form of strength,' I say, holding his gaze, 'and strength is the only thing I respect.' 'Treve, I..' 'Shut up, Whitting. Don't say another word to me, or I'll snap your scrawny neck.' I pause, to make sure he understands. 'You owe me one and a half million dollars, the incremental price for a snuff. Payable right now.' I slide over and gesture to the computer. Whitting emits an audible gulp, and moves to the machine. The satellite link is already up, connected as he was returning from the wet room. He types in the transfer request, and stares in disbelief at the result. Insufficient funds. We sit in silence for a moment. 'The markets are closed, but I can get the money on..' The tazer pressed into the side of his neck cuts off the rest. * * * 'Treve! Treve! I'll get you the money!' Whitting's screams echo through the halls. I watch him on the monitor, stretched on the frame in the wet room. His eyes remain studiously averted from 8, whose body I've positioned against the wall, looking at him. He's been conscious for a while now, and is quite hysterical. I collect the things I want and head to visit Mr. Whitting. 'You can shut up now, Whitting. Save your voice.' He does so, momentarily at least, and eyes the hammer and handful of nails that I set on the little tables with some trepidation. I start to break the 2x2 in my other hand into three parts. 'Treve, you can't do this. We had a deal!' 'We did have a deal, Whitting. You broke my rules.' I shake out the singletail from my belt. Whitting breaks into pitiful whining as I move behind him, and changes to high-pitched squeals when the whip starts shredding his back. I enlighten him as I go. 'You see' crack 'torture should be done' crack 'from a position of strength' crack 'and self-control.' Concentrate on his upper back, turning it to living hamburger. His blood splatters to the floor. Satisfied with his back, I toss the whip aside and walk around to face him. Whitting hangs quiet, panting. 'Look at me,' I say, in a mild, quiet voice. He does, the irony apparently lost on him. 'You fucked up. I suspect you've done that a lot over the years. Only this time, you can't buy your way out of it.' 'I'll.. I'll get your money.' Pleading eyes, peering into mine. I turn and run my hand over his little shock box, which I played with briefly while Whitting was unconscious. 'I really do admire your little toy. However,' I continue, picking up the nails and hammer, 'I don't have your patience. Eight channels seem quite sufficient.' I circle behind him. Place the first nail against the center of his left ass cheek. Whitting starts screaming again as I tap it in until it hits bone. Then the other cheek. I thread number three vertically through his anus, in the top and back out the bottom. The nails aren't very sharp, and are rather thick. It takes a fair amount of pushing. Whitting has passed out, so I connect leads to these three nails and wait. When he comes to, I start again. Pinch one nipple and shove a nail through behind it. Same on the other side. Then, I roll one corner of the table between his legs. He looks at me, shaking his head no. I smile back. Three nails, three small pieces of wood. First nail through one testicle and into the wood. Second testicle run through as well. Number eight straight through the head of his cock. I sit back with the shock box, working the dials and watching Whitting dance. Wonder briefly whether the device can cook his penis without killing him. Perhaps in a day or two I'll find out. End Part V
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